The Lies My Boss Told Me
by Ludwig's Alter Ego
Summary: 1941. Ludwig gets more than he bargained for when he naively ends up leading an Einsatzgruppe out on a mission to discover the source of a mysterious explosion in Ponary. His new mission? Save a pair of Jewish children from his fellow SS.
1. The Mission

**A/N: **This fic deals with some dark subject matter and attempts are made to portray the people and situations realistically ( well, as realistic as one can be when writing fiction and personifying nations ). Nazis act like Nazis and the atrocities they commit are not swept under the rug or downplayed. The story will push the "T" rating, but not quite venture into "M" territory.

I am aware that WWII and the holocaust are very sensitive topics for some people. I mean no harm or disrespect to anyone with this and am not trying to make any kind of statement; I'm just writing for fun. : )

**ALSO** I have given Lithuania a sex-change in this story. He is the only character to be genderbent like this, for plot purposes ( well, subplot purposes anyway xD ) and because I _**really**_ think he makes a better woman. ; )

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own _Hetalia_, nor am I affiliated with any of the people who hold any of the rights to it. If you've seen it before, it isn't mine.

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><p><strong>November 28th, 1941<strong>  
><strong>Ponary, Lithuania<strong>

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><p>The entire city was covered in a soft, thin layer of fine snow. It frosted the boughs of trees and decorated the ground, cars, and rooftops with its crystalline whiteness, shimmering beautifully like millions of tiny diamonds wherever the sun managed to break through the mass of gray-white clouds overhead. Lazy wisps of smoke curled up from chimneys. Birds congregated around feeders or squabbled over treats from the trash and what other sources of food they could find. Cold but not freezing, it was the perfect day for adults to stay indoors and relax with a hot beverage and a good radio program, and for children to get out and make snowmen or have an early winter wonderland adventure.<p>

Yet in Ponary, the children weren't outside playing and the adults were anything but relaxed.

Well. For the most part. Here and there a few warmly-dressed children could be seen running around outside ruining clean sheets of snow in the acts of horseplay, building snow sculptures, tossing their toys around, climbing trees… doing all the things normal children did. But they were unusually careful not to be too loud, and there were certain adults that they never voluntarily approached.

As for Ponary's adults…most of them could be found hard at work, or hustling back and forth between buildings with overly serious, gloomy, or nervous countenances. Smiles were rare. Apologies were common. Several people walked the streets with firearms in plain view.

It was the typical scene of a German occupation, and one which Ludwig had seen many times before. His usual pattern was to sweep in to an area with the Wehrmacht and/or Waffen-SS ( technically he belonged to the Wehrmacht, but like some of his compatriots he also held a rank in the Waffen-SS , which was often used alongside or interchangeably with the Wehrmacht), assist them in destroying any enemy forces present, help secure the area, and start off for the next enemy front immediately. As the living personification of Germany he was endowed with inhuman strength, speed, endurance, healing, and the capacity to survive even the complete annihilation of his human form, so this kept him where he was needed most. Not to mention that few things in life pleased him as much as battles against foes who could actually present him with a challenge: there was such an intoxicating, wild rush of satisfaction, accomplishment, and sheer, undiluted _power _that came from every victory, especially personal victories won directly against the personified spirits of other nations.

Yes, Germany was used to invading and forcibly occupying. Kalisz, Krakow, Warsaw, Paris…the places he had personally been to were too numerous to count. Sad faces, perpetual fear, dejected spirits…it was to be expected of the civilians. They were in awe of his power. They feared for their lives as well as their livelihoods. As for the German occupiers, they acted mostly with smug superiority, keeping everything under tight control and ruthlessly running affairs as they saw fit. Members of the Heer and SS prowled the streets like vigilant wolves, always on the lookout for rule-breakers and "enemies of the State".

This was the first time that Ludwig had specifically been to the Ponary/Vilnius region, but already something seemed…amiss. He couldn't quite place his finger on it…it was more like a feeling in the atmosphere, an unshakable, uncanny, creeping sensation that something was _not right_. He had arrived only an hour ago, and already he had been informed of an explosion that had happened early this morning underground in what was presumably the storm drainage system. _Presumably _because a brief investigation had revealed a network of tunnels that seemed suspiciously larger than necessary for purely drainage purposes. The single known man-sized entrance, turned up only an hour and a half ago, had taken hours to find.

Everyone was certain that the tunnels were being used to smuggle people and goods out of the city, or perhaps even to supply secret enemy groups _within _the city with weapons, ammunition, and explosives. That made exploring and securing them Number One priority. The Oberführer had already selected a unit for that task and had just been in the process of sending them out the door when Ludwig had shown up and immediately taken command of the outfit.

Ludwig could tell from the seemingly frustrated scowls that had appeared on a few of the men's faces right then that they were none too thrilled with this arrangement. He honestly had no idea why, as with the exception of Schmitz — whom he had spoken with a few times and who presently seemed happy enough to have him around — he didn't recall meeting any of them. Maybe they simply didn't like working directly alongside such high-ranking officers. Maybe they were afraid of what would happen if they made a mistake.

Or maybe, just maybe, they were jealous of the fact that someone who appeared to be no older than twenty-five years old at most had already acquired not only a high rank, but an impressive reputation to go with it.

Didn't matter.

_He _was in charge, and they just had to deal with it.

All thirteen of them were briskly walking down the sidewalk of a main street now, Ludwig at the head of the pack. Dressed exclusively in gray SS uniforms complete with hats bearing the fearsome _Totenkopf_ and heavily armed with pistols and submachine guns, he knew they made an intimidating sight. And sure enough every civilian that caught sight of them was shying away and giving them a _very_ wide berth.

Beyond quickly scanning them with his eyes for weapons, explosives, or anything else of a questionable nature, Ludwig paid them little heed. It was good that these people knew their place. That made life easier for everyone, especially them.

"How much further?" he asked once they rounded a corner, breaking the stony silence which had gripped the group since they had started out on the mission.

Hordes of civilians parted before them and tried their best not to stare. One young woman was in such a hurry that she slipped on a patch of ice and went down hard on her arms and knees on the pavement with a muffled cry. No one rushed to help her up.

"Not far," one of the men directly behind him replied, "just two blocks straight ahead and out into the field a few meters. It's near a big bluish rock."

Ludwig's eyebrow rose. "Bluish?"

"Yes. Sort of." The man sounded distracted. Ludwig shot a glance over his shoulder and saw him staring at the woman who had slipped with a look of utter disgust. "These people," he sneered, "they're all the same."

The woman was up now, her face wrought with pain, halfway bent over with one arm clutching her side. Somehow, she almost managed to set a record for hobbling into a building.

Ludwig turned his attention back to the path ahead. Squinting at little, he could just make out the off-blue rock his compatriot had been talking about. "I don't blame them for being frightened," he admitted, "look at all the weapons we're carrying. For all they know we could open fire on them at any moment."

No one had anything to say about that. For some reason, Ludwig found their silence slightly unnerving.

Odd, considering that he was not exactly the talkative type himself.

The remaining five minutes or so to the bluish rock were characterized by more of the same: frightened civilians that scrambled to get out of the Nazis' way to hide or show that they were harmless rule-abiders, and silent compatriots. Now that they were in the right spot, Ludwig noticed the entrance immediately: a small, crude, rather old-looking manhole cover plugged into the ground. The snow surrounding it had been trampled almost out of existence, and only the most stubborn bits of white powder still clung to the depressions of the cover itself. Temporarily shifting his Maschinenpistole 35 submachine gun to his non-dominant hand, Ludwig grasped the cold, dark metal circle with his right and pulled it up, giving silent thanks to the warm black gloves he was wearing. Once he had the lid removed, he tossed it aside to reveal a hole that was just barely big enough for one man at a time to fit down. The rungs of an old iron ladder faded into pitch blackness almost immediately.

"I'll go first." Ludwig said starkly, making it perfectly clear that protocol was to be followed in this instance. Not that he expected any of his men to challenge him, really. Leaders traditionally went first, and even if Hitler was willing to deviate from that ( he had to have thrust Ludwig in front of him at least 50 times now whenever he suspected he may be entering a potentially dangerous situation ), Germany wasn't. Nation or not, powers or not, he would be no less fearless. Prussia hadn't raised a coward.

It was a good thing he had thought to grab a rifle strap from the supplies room before starting out on this mission, otherwise climbing down a ladder that went down God knew how many meters while holding on to a weapon as large and unwieldy as his submachine gun would have been impossible. He clicked the safety into place, then, thinking twice, commanded his men to do the same. Germans were well-trained, but one could never be too careful. There was a barrage of clicks as the order was carried out.

There.

They were ready.

Carefully, Ludwig descended into the unknown.


	2. Halte!

**Chapter 2**

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It was like dropping down the throat of an icy earthen serpent: the further he went the colder and more dank the air became. But it was not terribly deep; his foot tested air after only twelve meters by his estimate. _Already at the bottom? I thought it'd be deeper._

Then again, drainage systems didn't need to be extremely deep, especially if they weren't running under a lot of heavy buildings.

"_Halte_! I have reached the bottom — remain still until further notice." He made sure his instructions were loud and clear, because in this all-encompassing darkness it would be easy to plow into the man below and cause a rather unpleasant, painful, and embarrassing chain-reaction.

The echoing clinking of boots against iron stopped.

Holding on tightly to a rung with his left hand, Ludwig fished into the pocket of his trenchcoat where his flashlight was kept, felt out the switch, and turned it on before removing it. The darkness was pierced by a steady beam of warm, yellow-tinged light. Half dangling, Ludwig directed it downward. He was relieved, but not surprised, to find safe landing a meter beneath him. The dark, hard-packed earth was glazed over with a sparkling layer of ice.

_So far, so good. _Black-gloved fingers released their hold on iron, and he allowed himself to drop the rest of the way. No sooner had he hit the ground then he was turning towards the expanse of black before him, the beam of his flashlight playing over cold, gray stone blocks that formed walls that vaulted into a ceiling. Judging by the wear and tear they had accumulated, they had been there for at least a century, if not longer. The tunnel they formed was wide enough for four men to comfortably walk abreast.

The smell was very damp and earthy. Not necessarily bad, but not altogether pleasant, either.

Save for the trickling of still as-of-yet-unseen water, it was very, very quiet.

_As quiet as a tomb_, Ludwig thought morbidly, a small phantom shiver tingling the back of his neck. Wary blue eyes couldn't help but to fix on the ceiling, where it was only too easy to imagine all those tons of dirt and rock crashing down on his body and crushing it the way they had the last time he'd been on a similar underground mission back in the Great War.

That cave-in had gotten Prussia, too.

Two nation spirits, crushed under the weight of their own land…how embarrassing. Not to mention the terrible jolt of pain that had occurred right before waking up — dirty, sore, and aching — in a tiny bathroom stall down the hall from where the boss had been holding a conference. As if that weren't bad enough, the magic that governed such "death trips" must have been on the Allies' side, because it had decided to place Germany and Prussia in the same stall together; Ludwig had woken up reclining back on a toilet seat with a halfway-slumped-forward Gilbert resting on top of him with his head pressed against the stall door.

To this day, Ludwig could only pray that no one had gotten curious enough to peer over or under the stall before he and Gilbert had had a chance to wake up.

Hopefully the ceiling would hold up this time.

_God, I hate being underground. _

"Obergruppenführer Herrmann, is it safe to come down?" a husky voice called.

Ludwig blinked.

Right.

His men.

He'd almost forgotten about them for a second.

"Ja." Forcing thoughts of cave-ins and embarrassing predicaments to the back of his mind, he swung back around and aimed the flashlight at the ground beneath the ladder as a courtesy to his company. One by one they dropped down, moved to the side, and took out their own flashlights. Soon all twelve were crowding behind Ludwig in an eager little cluster, lighting the tunnel entrance up like a Christmas Tree.

"Follow me closely and stay alert. Hard telling what we'll find down here." His voice, though toned down to a quieter volume than usual to avoid disclosing their identity and location to possible enemies, was no less authoritative.

He was answered with a bunch of silent nods from faces which showed a range of emotions from stoic to optimistic. Weapons were drawn and the safety features clicked off. Some men chose to douse their flashlights for the sake of being able to ready their submachine guns or rifles, while others opted for handguns which only required one hand. There was more clicking as some of these were cocked.

Ludwig himself removed his Walther PPK semi-automatic pistol from the interior of his trenchcoat, switched the safety off, and cocked it. As leader, it was far more important for him to be able to see than let loose a stream of bullets.

A clean-shaven young man who appeared to be in his early twenties spoke up. "Probably just a bunch of Jewish vermin," he said blithely, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a malevolent smirk, "Nothing we can't handle."

Ludwig had to resist the urge show or voice disapproval. There it was again, that racist, anti-Semitic propaganda that Hitler and his government had been forcing down the throats of his citizens: _The Jews are backstabbing, conniving, sneaky, power-hungry, anti-German communist subhumans bent on destroying the superior Aryan bloodlines. Hate them. Discriminate against them. Arrest and deport them over any little thing. Encourage them to leave the country._

Far from hating them, these days Ludwig mostly felt sorry for the Jews. Of all the people in Europe, his boss had decided to level the blame mostly at them for all of Germany's problems and misfortune, as if they were the most disgusting, vile creatures on earth and the very source of all the filth, lies, and evil in the world. He even went so far as to say that they had orchestrated Germany's defeat in the Great War.

_Utter nonsense_. Ludwig had personally known and fought alongside at least a few Jews that he knew of in that war, and all of them had been dedicated, competent soldiers who had served the German armed forces loyally and bravely. One of them, Ber, had been the only true non-country friend he'd had at the time. Grief-stricken and incredibly pissed off, Ludwig had gone out of his way to avenge him when he'd died in combat.

Hitler was wrong. Dead wrong. About everything the Jewish people were and did.

Sadly — and frustratingly — all of Ludwig's attempts to correct him thus far had been in vain. His boss simply refused to believe, or indeed even to _listen to, _the words of the very nation he claimed to love so much. Every time he brought it up der Führer immediately commanded his silence and switched the topic, usually after making some kind of stupid remark about how he couldn't help "sympathizing with the Judeo-Bolshevists" when there were still so many of them within his borders.

"_You don't understand now, but you will someday." _he kept promising, _"I'm making you the grandest, mightiest nation on Earth."_

_Maybe, but not through the ways you think. _For all his faults and crazy ideas, Ludwig had to admit that his boss _was_ building him up into a powerful nation worthy of respect and envy. He was gaining land, power, and influence, and he had Hitler's government to thank for it; for making him stronger militarily, industrially, and economically. Really, his house had become a wonderful place to live, unless one happened to be Jewish, socialist, communist, lazy, or a believer in individual freedom.

And for these reasons, Ludwig was almost proud to be a Nazi.

Almost.

All of the unjust hatred leveled at the Jews and other innocent minority groups was the one part of Nazi ideology he could never support. It was just…ridiculous. Especially since most — perhaps all —of the allegations against these groups were entirely untrue.

Despite his resolve to show no emotion, the ghost of disappointment shadowed his face as he studied his fellow SS. How he would love to be able to speak his mind and set Clean-Shaven straight...

But no.

If he wanted to remain free and useful to his people he could not very well challenge orders and propaganda originating from Adolf Hitler himself, no matter how wrong his boss was or how strongly he disagreed with him.

Maybe one of these days he would finally be able to convince him to change his policies.

For now he just had to put up with it.

Wordlessly, he turned and led the way into the unknown.

They trekked on in almost perfect silence for the next two or three minutes, the semi-frozen ground muffling their footsteps, the gurgle of slowly-moving water drawing closer. Then all of a sudden the tunnel ended, intersecting with another to form a perfect 'T'. A small canal ran along the far wall, flowing to the right.

_Great. Now which way?_

Ludwig shone his light to the left first. Another dark, dirty, and barren passage with the same chilling dampness clinging to earth and stone.

He turned to the right.

This time the golden beam sliced through the blackness to reveal a person standing with his back pressed against the wall less than ten meters away, still and silent as a cemetery. The dark-haired man whirled the instant the light struck him and started racing down the passage like the hounds from Hell were after him.

"Halte!" Ludwig barked, tearing after him, "Halte or we'll shoot!" His men followed hot on his heels, the combined beams of their flashlights merging with his and making a spotlight which cast his and the fleeing man's shadows long and dark in front of them.

The man didn't listen. He didn't even dignify the command with a backward glance. He just kept running for all he was worth, his long, spindly legs flying beneath him.

_You like to live dangerously, don't you? _Ludwig thought, annoyed and insulted that a mere _civilian_ had the nerve to disobey his orders. It was common knowledge to all in the occupied zones that they were to defer to any German officer at any time. This included not running away from them when they were obviously breaking the law or being asked to do something.

But rather than make good on his threat to open fire he simply powered his legs faster, tapping a tiny bit into the supernatural speed he possessed as a nation.

Mr. Disobedient didn't stand a chance. Ludwig struck him in the back like a falcon hitting a pigeon and pinned him belly-first to the wall with the force of the collision. There was an audible_ "oomph!" _as all the wind was knocked out of the man's lungs. Thrusting his flashlight deep into one of the pockets of his trenchcoat, Ludwig seized the man's left shoulder and flung him around to face him, burying the tip of his gun into his chest the moment it was exposed.

A dirt-stained face looked back at him with a dazed expression.

Unyielding blue eyes studied him closely, eager to see just what type of criminal they were dealing with.


	3. The Crazy and Desperate

**Chapter 3**

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><p>The man appeared to be his age, maybe slightly younger. He was a bit on the short side, falling a full twelve to fifteen centimeters short of Ludwig's 178 centimeters, and his almond-colored skin was a few shades darker than the German's. His dark eyes were rimmed with red. Fresh blood trickled from his disjointed nose, flowing over the dried dirt-blood mixture that caked his lips and chin. Almost shoulder-length black hair hung from his head in a disheveled, sticky, tangled mop that didn't look like it had been brushed or washed in weeks. The clothes he wore were little more than disgustingly filthy, torn rags. They were not of a large size, but their wearer was so thin that they hung from his shivering form, and Ludwig instantly wished he had not treated him so roughly — in such a frail, emaciated state, he had probably cracked the poor man's ribs.<p>

It was then that he noticed that the muzzle of his gun was dead-centered in the middle of the word '_Jude_' on the yellow six-pointed star patch that the man wore over his left breast.

Ludwig blinked. This was no criminal — it was a grimy, malnourished, injured, half-frozen Jew trying to escape his oppressors. From the looks of it he'd been having a hell of a time, too. He'd probably escaped from the Vilnius work camp — there _was_ a Jewish work camp there, wasn't there? Ludwig seemed to vaguely remember hearing something about it — and had been on the run ever since, hiding in these tunnels and going for days without eating.

"Ah, it's a _Jew_," the Nazi who had expressed contempt for all non-Germans earlier spoke up, spitting the religious label like an insult, "Looks like Krause was right."

"See, what did I tell you? Go down in a rat-hole, find rats." There was an almost sing-song element in Krause's voice.

Ludwig said nothing. His eyes narrowed just a fraction, and when he stared into the face of the man whose life he held in his hands a frightening shadow darted across his frosty irises.

The Jew had recovered from the shock of being smashed against the wall now. His overly-skinny body still shaking from the cold, he took one look at the gun pressing against his chest and his brown eyes stretched so wide with fear that his captor could see two tiny glowering Ludwigs reflected in them. He began speaking rapidly in a language the blonde didn't understand, his quiet voice fraught with panic, cringing as far back into the wall as he could.

Ludwig shook his head. "I don't speak…whatever language that is."

The Jew squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his bloodied lower lip quivering, half-whispering half-crying what might have been a prayer in his native tongue. Water welled in the corners of his eyes and spilled down his cheeks in cold, dirty tears. It was clear from his actions that he expected to be shot any moment.

His mouth set in a rigid line, Ludwig kept his gun steady and began to frisk him with his free hand, patting him down for weapons and other potentially dangerous or stolen objects. It was extremely doubtful that this starving, trembling, half-dead shadow of a man had anything of the sort on him, but routine procedure was routine procedure, and one could never be too careful.

The Jew whimpered at the treatment, trembling like a Baltic in front of Russia, but wisely offered no resistance.

The search was over less than a minute later.

Ludwig's frown softened, his fierce blue eyes losing some of their hawklike intensity.

Nothing.

This man had _nothing_ on him, apart from the rags he wore. No guns. No knives. No dynamite or stolen wares.

_Not even a flashlight…_

Such a minor detail, yet one with huge implications: this man was without a flashlight, or any other light source. He hadn't had one and extinguished it in an attempt to hide from the Nazis, as Ludwig had assumed. It meant that whatever time he'd spent underground he'd spent in complete darkness. Unless he'd had a flashlight early on and it had run out of power — there was no way of knowing if that was the case.

But even if…

_What the hell were you __**thinking**__? _Ludwig stared with disbelief at the terror-struck young man in front of him. Was he _insane_?

Sure, the Jews had it rough right now with his boss's regime, but the work camps were safe-havens where they were at least treated humanely. In Vilnius this man had had access to food, hygiene, health care, and warm clothes. True, he hadn't been free, but was freedom really so important that it was worth risking a slow, agonizing death by cold and starvation in a pitch-black underground labyrinth over?

The black-haired man was silent now. He continued to shiver with his eyes shut, his face set in a grim cast, his chest heaving, too afraid to so much as twitch a pinkie from the position Ludwig had pushed him into.

It hit like a blast of icy wind — a brief yet powerful urge to pull the trigger and kill the vile, ungrateful vermin cowering front of him. He could hear the shot, feel the kick from the gun and the body sliding down to the ground…

Unconsciously, his finger tightened around the trigger…

_What the hell are you thinking? What the hell am __**I**__ thinking? I don't kill unarmed, innocent people! _

A phantom chill raced up Ludwig's spine. It had been an impulse urge — one of those sudden unwelcome, usually disturbing thoughts and desires which sometimes streaked through his mind like a shooting star. He knew he would never act on them, only this time…this time he almost _had_.

He lowered his gun, deeply ashamed and a little frightened by what he had almost done. It was true that Crazy Jew here _had_ broken the law by fleeing the work camp and deliberately ignoring his obligation to obey authority. However, he didn't deserve to _die_ for it. Under normal circumstances his actions would merit some kind of punishment; perhaps a beating and reduced rations and privileges over the next few weeks. However, these were _not_ normal circumstances: this man was already suffering greatly, and in such poor physical condition that any form of punishment would be cruel and potentially lethal.

Not to mention the insanity which was ultimately the cause of his present condition in the first place.

Ludwig turned to his men waiting patiently in the background. All he could see of them were painful bright circles of light. Blinking, he was forced to look away. "He has nothing but the clothes on his back," he announced, "I'm going to try to interrogate him. See if he knows anything about the explosion this morning."

The others' expressions were hidden behind a wall of lights, but it was easy for Ludwig to envision them looking on in silent approval. Hopefully someone would be able to assist if the language barrier became an issue.

Having made his intentions clear, Ludwig turned his sights back on his sanity-challenged prisoner. The man still had his eyes closed, so he gave him a few gentle taps on the shoulder. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

Crazy Jew's eyelids flew open. Fear-ridden eyes peered at him from beneath a thin film of water.

Slowly, he shook his head.

Ludwig sighed. This was going to be tough.

He went down the list of languages he knew, each time asking his Jewish captive if he could speak it and moving on when he received a negative response. French, Italian, Dutch…the man didn't know any of them.

Thwarted at every attempt, in the end he shifted to Shaykomay, the language of nation spirits. "And of course you don't speak this." He was talking to himself now, more out of frustration than hope that the man would actually know the language. Very few humans spoke Shaykomay: countries were extremely picky about who they taught it to, only sharing it with close friends or at the orders of their bosses.

So it came as absolutely no surprise when the man responded to the statement with a frown and a puzzled look.

_Naturally, _Ludwig thought irritably, _if you had a nation friend, you would have never wound up in this predicament in the first place. Unless that friend was Poland or Latvia._

The Jew must have sensed he was trying to help, because he spoke up again in his own language loud and clear, a faint hope kindling in his eyes.

"Does anyone know what that language is?" Ludwig turned his head towards his men again, this time shielding his eyes with his hand and blinkingly staring off to the side.

"Hebrew, I believe."

"Do you speak it?"

"Nein."

"Do _any_ of you speak it?"

There was a brief silence, then "Obergruppenführer, why would any of us know _Hebrew_?" a gruff voice said, and Ludwig could tell by the slightly annoyed intonation in his voice that he was having a bit of difficultly keeping his tone respectful, "It isn't worth learning."

Ludwig felt his patience waning. He gestured to Crazy Jew with his PPK, causing the other man to tense up. "It sure would come in handy now!"

Silence.

Typical.

Receiving no answer, he reached up and lightly massaged his forehead, his fingers shifting a few stray wisps of blonde hair back under his hat. His eyes closed briefly against the bright light.

Well, his men could be of no help in the language department, so there was only one thing left to do with Crazy Jew. Turning his attention back the quivering human being in front of him, he grabbed his right arm and pulled him towards his subordinates.

The man was very cooperative, moving on his own accord.

Ludwig gave him a subtle nod to show he appreciated this, but the Jew was facing the lights, and he knew he had probably missed it.

"Take him back to the work camp," he commanded, tossing his captive into the nearest officer once they were close enough.

The man seized Crazy Jew's arm immediately.

A bit more roughly a bit more roughly than he had to.

_There's no need for that. _

He'd better make sure his orders were loud and clear, otherwise there was a very real chance that his officer might beat the poor man to death. Some men were just violent by nature, and when they were in a position of authority they let the power go to their heads. He himself knew first-hand how easy it was to get carried away, to get caught up in the fervor of the moment and kill someone without meaning to. It could happen lightning-fast, too — all it took was the right blow to the right area. Regrettable, but accidents did happen.

He raised his voice, suddenly not caring if enemies heard, his tone firm and imposing. "He is _not _to be punished, understand? He's half dead as it is, and probably insane. Harmless and defenseless."

Now that he was behind the lights, he could make out his fellow Nazis' faces again. Most of them wore the same stern, no-nonsense frowns he was used to seeing on them, but a few were giving him strange looks, as though they couldn't fathom showing someone mercy.

The man holding Crazy Jew nodded seriously, his cold eyes pinning Ludwig's. "It will be done at once."

"Obergruppenführer, with your permission, I would like to assist Schwarz." Krause's lip curled in a thin smile.

Ludwig considered. Normally he would have reservations about sending a known Jew-hater along with the pair, but now that he thought about it two men _did _provide added security, and damn, the clock was ticking if they wanted to catch any nearby enemies before they could either run off or mount an offensive. There was simply no time to sit there and play a guessing game of 'who's the most moral'. Especially since, at the moment, none of this particular SS unit seemed that moral, with the possible exception of Schmitz, who at the moment might as well have been a statue carved in stone in the corner.

_Odd. _Ludwig didn't know Schmitz all that well, but in all of their interactions thus far he had been livelier. Happier.

"Permission granted." he relinquished, lowering his voice and giving Krause a hard look. "Remember my orders. He is to be treated civilly."

Krause nodded. "Understood."

Unfortunately, Crazy Jew had no way of knowing that he'd just been pardoned by a general. He continued to stare at the nation spirit in mute, saddened horror. Then Schwarz turned him around, and he shot Ludwig one last pleading look over his shoulder before being led away, Krause keeping pace at his other side.

Ludwig watched them disappear around the corner before issuing his next command. "Let's go. Half of you that way," he pointed his gun up over his mens' heads to indicate the direction behind them, "half of you with me. We'll meet up back here in two hours. These tunnels can't be _that_ intricate. Check every nook and cranny."

"Yes _Sir_!" Most of the ten remaining men managed perfect unison. One of them even saluted.

Ludwig figured the one that had saluted was probably his second-in-command._ Good. __**You**__ can lead the other unit._

With a curt nod he turned, retrieved his flashlight, and headed down the path from which Crazy Jew had come. The familiar yellow beam fell over the same bland scenery as before: large, old stones and tunneled, hard-packed earth. He walked with hurried steps, his keen eyes lancing as far ahead as they could, missing nothing.

After a few moments of shuffling and a bit of obvious confusion as to who was to go where, five men followed him.

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_**A/N: **It wasn't necessarily Hebrew the man was speaking — Lud's "buddies" are biased, dishonest, and don't know every language under the sun._

_I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but I try to use the German terms for ranks and a few other note-worthy things as much as possible, and I do use a few German words ( mostly **nein** [no] and **ja** [yes] ) here and there to flavor it with a tiny bit more authenticity. Assume they're speaking purely German unless noted otherwise._

_Many thanks to my reviewer! I'm glad you liked it, and I certainly do plan to continue! =)_


	4. Holding Out For a Hero

**Chapter 4**

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><p>An hour in, and three things were glaringly obvious to Ludwig: 1) this underground tunnel system <em>was<em> intricate — in fact, it was _very_ intricate — 2) its purpose was definitely _not _primarilystorm drainage, and 3) he and his men would be very fortunate indeed if they managed to reach the agreed upon meeting place within the next hour. The tunnel he'd picked had ended in another 'T' after only ten minutes' walk, and ever since he and his stony little group had had walked past the entrances to no less than half a dozen intersecting tunnels. So far they had discovered two relatively small secret rooms whose tiny crawlspace entrances had been carefully hidden; several alcoves in the walls that were just big enough to accommodate a person or two who needed to duck into hiding at a moment's notice; the decomposing or skeletal remains of a few cats, mice, rats, and other, unidentifiable animals; a few old wrappers and other such garbage; black soot and scorch-marks from ancient torches on some of the walls and ceilings; and — most tantalizing of all — the faint, fresh imprints of human feet in places where the soil was a little softer or wetter than usual.

There could be no question about it: this was a regular underground labyrinth, and it had been designed and built for smuggling even before its current use for that purpose.

That…was complicating matters.

_Where the __**hell**__ is this blast site hiding? _Though he had been gifted with inhuman endurance, Ludwig lacked the patience to match. It felt like they had hiked halfway to Siberia exploring, and he was getting tired of wandering down so many dark, cold passages that all looked the same, and, frustratingly, finding only the occasional scant evidence of recent human occupation, most of which had probably come from Crazy Jew in his insane travels or people who had worked their way out days ago.

At the very least they should be coming across a freshly-collapsed room or tunnel any moment now. Hell, they should have found it _already_, unless…unless they had somehow gotten turned around, and were wandering in circles?

_No_. Ludwig refused to believe that; he had kept them on as straight a course as possible, mapping the tunnels out in his head and keeping track of their position mentally. True, he had only a rough idea of how far from their starting point they were, but the passages themselves and their current position were as clear to him as if he were staring at the drawings on a sheet of paper spread out in front of him.

As he walked, his eyes beginning to glaze over from a complete lack of anything interesting or out-of-the-ordinary to look at, he went over the directions again in his head, just to be sure he had them memorized. _Let's see…up from the area where we captured Crazy Jew, to the left at the next 'T', up three tunnel intersections, to the right at the next 'T', up a tunnel — or was that up __**two **__tunnels? _He frowned, trying to remember. _Wait a minute. Didn't we backtrack down one of the tunnels we initially passed when faced with a dead-end?_

Yes.

Yes they had.

_But that didn't come until __**after**__ the right at the 'T' and up two tunnels — yes, it was __**definitely**__ two tunnels — and_…

The sound of running shoes hitting half-frozen, solid earth brought his thoughts to a screeching halt.

_Aha! _

They'd found someone!

_About time._

Barely had he set foot into the new tunnel ( it was the branching point of another 'T' ) then he was whirling from right to left, the beam of his flashlight a flying line of light that flashed over the right-hand passage just long enough for the jagged, uneven outline of a wall of earth and stone to be imprinted into his mind along with a peculiar shape lying at its base. Before he had a chance to make sense of these images he was facing the opposite direction, his light falling on a pair of fleeing human forms. One was wearing a striped outfit that looked rather like pajamas or a prison uniform, the other was dressed normally enough. That was all Ludwig had time to process before his men came fully to life and dashed out in front of him, giving chase with the zeal of a pack of hunting dogs set on a deer.

"Halte!" one of them barked, his cold voice echoing throughout the tunnel, "Halte or we'll open fire!"

"Non-fatal shots!" Ludwig was quick to remind his party. Energized and excited, he started after them. "Remember, we need to interrogate them!"

"Please! Help me!"

So weak as to be barely audible, it was a miracle that Ludwig heard the desperate cry through all the commotion going on further down the passage. But he did, and it was enough to freeze him mid-stride.

It was definitely a woman's voice.

It came together in a rush of clarity: the cave-in, the shape at its base…

Ludwig pivoted on his foot and shot off in the opposite direction, the angry shouts of his men growing weaker in his ears. It took him only a few seconds to reach the base of the collapsed tunnel, where he came to an abrupt stop.

There, lying on the ground amidst a mess of dirt and broken stone, half hidden by a few large chunks of earth, was a young woman. She was flat on her stomach, her head tilted away from the cave-in. One arm was tucked under her, the other rested out in front of her face. A massive boulder pinned her legs from the knees down, preventing her from escaping or even moving into a more comfortable position. Her light-colored clothes were encrusted with dirt, and, in places, grime and dried mud. A deep blotch of red staining the back of her shirt drew Ludwig's eyes to the bullet-hole there.

_Poor thing. _Ludwig's heart went out to the woman. She was hurt pretty badly, and he could all too well imagine the pain she was in, having himself been through as much and so, so much worse in the past.

But the suffering he had underwent wasn't the same, and he knew it. He was a country: wounds that would be fatal on a human only slowed him down, weakened him. His body could sustain several gunshots before falling or failing him — so long as none of those shots were to his head or face — and the speed at which he healed would be called 'miraculous' by most humans. He felt pain just as intensely as any human, yes, but unlike them he had the luxury of knowing that it would all be better soon: that the agony would be short-lived and he would not suffer any massive long-term negative effects from it. All nation spirits were like that. The magic that governed them had blessed them with phoenix-like resurrection: no matter how badly they were injured, their human forms would completely regenerate upon vanishing and reappearing next to their bosses following a false 'death'. They wouldn't necessarily _feel_ fine after that, and indeed, cuts, scars, and bruises could still remain ( especially if the physical areas they represented and were symbiotically linked to had suffered ), but the big stuff — broken bones, missing limbs, charred flesh, etc. — all of that would be fixed.

This woman…even with the best medical care from this point onward, she would never again enjoy the same quality of life she had had prior receiving these injuries. The damage the bullet had done tearing through muscle and soft tissue — possibly hitting bone — might never fully heal, and could potentially create additional health problems later on down the line. The earth-encrusted boulder pinning her legs had probably crushed them beyond the point where they could be saved. After tonight she would be permanently wheel-chair bound.

If she survived.

And that was a big _if_.

For the first time, Ludwig noticed the smell of blood hanging in the air. It wasn't particularly strong or overpowering, but it spelled bad news for the woman who had lost it.

"Miss?" His voice was a tad softer than usual, both in volume and tone. Genuine concern flickered across his features as he moved his beam over the messy sea of long, dark brown hair that hid the woman's face from view. All he could make out was her nose and a sliver of her lips.

No reaction. The woman continued to lie there completely motionless, the perfect semblance of a corpse.

Ludwig frowned; hopefully he was not too late. Fumbling for a moment with his flashlight, he clicked the safety on his PPK back into place and returned the weapon to its usual spot inside his trenchcoat. Then he transferred the flashlight to his right hand and knelt down on one knee.

_You look familiar…_

Now that he was closer, he was struck with the feeling he had seen this lady before, though he couldn't for life of him remember where. Perhaps she had been one of the many nameless faces he'd passed by in a crowd or on a street corner somewhere?

He reached out with his left and shook her shoulder gently. "Miss? Are you still alive?"

To his delight, he got an answer.

"Yes. Barely." The woman's voice was weak from pain and exhaustion. "Please…help me."

In his seventy years of life as a nation, Ludwig had witnessed plenty of similar sights and had heard the exact same plea spoken many times before. Several years of combat and experience on the battlefront had long since numbed him to the sight and smell of blood: to the sight of dead, mutilated bodies and grotesquely wounded, dying men. Terrible injuries and agonizingly painful deaths were an unavoidable and inevitable fact of war. He felt sorrow whenever his own people suffered and died, and he directly contributed to the suffering and deaths of the enemy. He was used to the emotionally-charged last words of men who would never return home to their families, who just wanted someone to carry their message home and to spend their last moments on Earth in the presence of friendly company.

Yet it wasn't the same with this woman. Somehow her words were more desperate; they penetrated more deeply. Gazing upon her like this, seeing her trapped, wounded, and utterly helpless, Ludwig was overcome with a strong urge to help and protect her. He wasn't sure whether it was because she was female, someone who felt familiar, or something more.

What he _was _sure right of then was that he would do everything in his power to help her.

He opened his mouth to reply-

_Rattattatatatatat! _

-and was cut off by a storm of gunfire echoing deafeningly throughout the labyrinth. Someone was firing a submachine gun.

Looked like fleeing duo had chosen not to be cooperative. How very unfortunate for them.

Two seconds later the gunfire ceased. From far off Ludwig heard one of his men shouting questions in the background — something about terrorists, explosives, and enemies of the state — and he sounded quite pissed, but the blonde general couldn't be bothered with any of that right now.

"Stay completely still," he instructed the brunette, speaking just loudly enough to be heard, "I'm going to free you."

The woman remained silent. If she had not gone unconscious, she was likely in too much pain to talk or perhaps even think coherently.

Ludwig sprang to his feet and wedged his light nice and taut into a crevice in the debris-wall, fixing the beam on the giant rock smashing the woman's legs. Now that he had a steady light source and both of his hands were free, he moved over to stand in front of the boulder and placed a hand on either side of it.

_For the love of God, I hope no one sees this. _he prayed silently. What he was about to do was not something he would normally risk doing with conscious humans in such close proximity, but this was a special circumstance. This woman needed help _now_ if she were to have any chance at all of survival, and Ludwig was the only one present with the power help her.

The lump of rock and earth was huge — it definitely weighed at least a ton, perhaps as much as two.

His strength the strength of many men, the country picked it up with ease and tossed it behind him.

Just as he'd expected, the woman's legs were thoroughly crushed, the ground beneath them dark with blood. Her pants covered up the mess of exposed tendons, muscle, bone, and raw tissue that lay beneath the surface.

Ludwig stood staring at her for a moment in silent pity, unsure of what to do next. It was all very nice and well that he had gotten the boulder off her legs, but now that that enormous pressure was gone the bleeding would intensify to the point where she would die within minutes without immediate and serious medical care and equipment. Hell, it may already be too late to save her: with her gunshot wound and all the blood she had already lost, it was actually kind of surprising she had lasted this long.

"You're…very kind." Her words were barely more than a whisper.

Ludwig's eyebrows rose in mild surprise; he didn't know what he'd been expecting the woman to say next, but it hadn't been _that_.

A fragile smile almost made it to his lips.

Almost.

To most people he was just another fearsome high-ranking Nazi officer: humorless, hard-ass, and cruel. Most of the time he didn't mind giving this impression — fear had a way of keeping people in line, which was better for everyone in the longrun — but it always felt good when people recognized that he was not some cold-hearted stone golem completely void of all tender emotions and incapable of showing kindness or mercy.

Hopefully she hadn't seen his Herculean feat with the boulder. If she had he was going to have to convince her that pain and shock had caused her to hallucinate. Shouldn't be too hard in her current frame of mind.

No, the hardest part by far was still deciding what to do next. He'd seen these types of wounds before. He knew what to expect. Traveling at a human speed, and having to navigate these tunnels, there was no way he could get her to a doctor in time. Even running at nation speed he may not make it in time, and then there was also the matter of the woman's severely injured body being able to withstand his swift and jerky movements. In trying to save her, he'd probably end up killing her.

Yet she was doomed anyway if he didn't at least try.

And what of his men? It would be highly irregular and irresponsible of him to just abandon them without a word.

_I can tell them where I'm going and why. _The thought made him flinch. That was not going to look good on his record. People would ask why he couldn't just send a few subordinates to carry the woman to the hospital.

"Ludwig…"

_You know my name? _Ludwig's heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening noticeably with surprise.

"I'm dying."

Without delay he walked over to the woman's head, knelt down on one knee in front of her face, and tossed his MP-35 comfortably to the side. Gingerly, he reached out and cleared her hair away from her face, pushing it up over her head.

The light wasn't the best for seeing clearly, but the face looking back at him was definitely familiar.

"_Rivka?_"he gasped, startled, "How…why…?"

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**A/N: **Thank you kindly for the reviews, readers!

_**Poisonlovely:**_ I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far! Ludwig does have his darker side, but he's not as fargone as some of his citizens.

_**Dr. Demon:**_ I'm not sure how much more action you'll see in this story, since Ludwig's surrounded by his own people, but you never know! There are for sure some tense moments ahead. If you have any suggestions, feel free to fire away!

_**Lindy12:**_ I've noticed there are a lot of different headcanons for Hetalia. Everyone has their own unique takes on the characters and situations, and most are perfectly valid and plausible. The reason I chose to leave Ludwig in the dark about the truth concerning the Jews is because, historically, Hitler's regime _did_ try to keep their dirty laundry out of the public eye and on an as-needed-to-know basis. Mainstream propaganda at the time depicted the Jews as being taken to labor camps where they were treated well: you can search for clips of this on Youtube. The average German didn't know the Jews were being slaughtered en-masse and literally worked to death under heinous conditions. Many members of the Wehrmacht didn't even know, unless they happened to witness such atrocities themselves ( and there are at least two documented cases of small groups of the Wehrmacht trying to protect their Jewish labor forces when they did find out, proving that support was not universal ). The SS and Gestapo knew the most about it, and they were the main ones responsible for the deaths and suffering.

My version of Ludwig is a member of both the Wehrmacht and the Waffen-SS; it was not only possible, but fairly common for a man to hold a rank in both simultaneously. I characterize him as a warmonger who loves the thrill of battle and challenging opponents, therefore he spends most of his time fighting on the frontlines. Whenever the frontlines change, he follows them to stay in the thick of battle where he's needed most. Consequently, he never gets the chance to witness the Einsatzgruppen round up and slaughter the Jews, since they wait to do that until AFTER an area has already been secured. As for the ghettos and death camps, he has no reason to visit them, so he doesn't.

A headcanon where he _**does**_ know earlier than what I am portraying here is equally as valid, I'm just explaining my line of reasoning. ~


	5. Ludwig Makes a Promise

**Chapter 5**

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><p>Rivka Goldberger co-owned and worked at a small general store in Berlin. A store at which Ludwig had been a regular customer prior to the war thanks to its close proximity to his house. She was a sweet, kind-hearted woman who had always had a warm smile and a friendly word to offer him, even on his grumpiest days when his facial expression had probably indicated that he was ready to kill a small child. He didn't know her on a personal level, but he had gotten used to seeing her around, and had even had a few brief conversational exchanges with her, mostly about baking and cooking.<p>

She was young — probably in her mid-to-late-twenties by now — and pretty, and Ludwig had thought about asking her out a few times for a semi-date, but had decided against it for various complicated and vaguely-confusing reasons. It was just as well: he later learned that she was married with a kid or two.

So much for that.

This was the first time he'd seen her in somewhere in the neighborhood of three years.

He wanted so badly to say something to soothe her torment — to lift her hopes and give her the strength and stamina she needed to survive the trip to the hospital — but the words wouldn't come.

She was right.

She was dying.

To pretend anything else was foolish and insulting.

What could he possibly say to make that better? He wasn't good at these things. He never had been. His fingers brushed delicately over the dirt-dusted almond skin of her cheek.

"You're freezing." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he knew it. Not the most suave or helpful statement, but at least it was better than following up her bleak observation with 'I know' or 'Yes. You are.', which were the first things that had come to mind. Still kneeling, he reached over his left shoulder, grabbed the strap of his Maschinenpistole, and pulled it over his head. Now that the weapon was no longer tethered to his body, he cast it gently off to the side. Quickly, he began undoing the buttons on the uppermost part of his trenchcoat ( the lower ones were already undone for quick access to his PPK ). "Here. This should help. At least…a little." She was going to die anyway, but perhaps his coat could offer her some small measure of comfort before she passed on.

The sounds of his men moving around in the background reached his ears. They were on their way back now. He wished they weren't.

Finishing with the buttons, he moved on to his belt.

"Ludwig…can I get you to... promise me something?" Rivka sounded so tired.

"Sure," Ludwig said without missing a beat, glad for the opportunity to be more helpful to his acquaintance/friend in her final moments, "Just tell me what it is and I'll do it." He took his coat off and spread it over the frail, broken body laid out before him, careful to keep the pistole and dagger hidden within away from tender spots.

Rivka took a deep breath. When she next spoke, her voice was the strongest it had been since Ludwig had found her today. "In the Vilnius ghetto are my two children. A son, age five, and a daughter, age seven. Their…" her voice began to cut out again.

Ludwig put his other knee and his hands down and leaned in closer. Through dim, shadowy light he was just able to make out the sorrowful brown eyes which gazed into his. He listened intently, blocking out all other sounds.

After a momentary pause to replenish her strength, Rivka continued. "…names are Arik and Nessa…Goldberger. Please…save them. Take them…far from here."

Ludwig blinked. "Save them? Save them from _what_? Are they in danger?"

The lights of five additional flashlights fell on them from behind. Ludwig's shadow blotted out Rivka's face.

_Damn. Why couldn't we be alone? _The presence of his men right here, right now, in a somewhat sentimental moment when Rivka was trying to tell him something important irked him. He could always order them off….no. Such a move would make him look suspicious, and questions and an air of distrust were not something he wanted to deal with right now.

"You…don't know?" There was an element of awe in the brunette's voice, like she could not believe that she knew something he didn't.

"Of course I don't know," Ludwig said reflexively, a strong flare of annoyance coloring his tone. He regretted it instantly_. I shouldn't have said that._ "I mean…" he sighed, dropping his gaze to the ground. Not that he could see her expression anyway — or she his — it just somehow felt more comfortable. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. Go on."

"You mean you…honestly don't know what's…happening to us?" More awe.

"Who is 'us'?" Ludwig asked, growing more and more frustrated in spite of his good intentions, "_Germans_?" _Come to think of it, just what the hell are you __**doing **__in Lithuania, anyway?_

To his knowledge, Rivka could not speak Lithuanian. Of course, that counted for little because he didn't know her all that well — she may well speak ten languages, all of them fluently — but it was odd that she should be so far out of her home country.

Perhaps she had been vacationing when something had gone horribly wrong?

He dismissed the idea quickly. No one in their right mind vacationed in a military occupied zone.

No, something else was at play here.

Then the question that had been silently lurking in the back of his mind and bothering him ever since he had learned Rivka's identity surfaced: why was Rivka _here_ here, as in, in this underground network of tunnels? Had she had something to do with the explosion? If so, why?

It was all so confusing. _What the hell is going on here? _

His subordinates had caught up with him now. Without a word they clustered behind him, close enough to hear most — if not all — of what was being said, but still keeping a respectful distance. One of them — the man Ludwig had taken for his defacto second-in-command — came up and stood a few feet off to his superior's side, shining his flashlight right into Rivka's eyes.

Rivka blinked and put her arm over her face.

Ludwig resisted the urge to immediately climb back to his feet and rise to his full height. It felt really awkward being down on his hands and knees like this in front of his men, but he wanted to be sure he heard whatever Rivka was about to tell him.

"Jews." The word was half-whispered. Rivka's thin arm remained motionless in front of her face, hiding it entirely from view.

"I didn't know you were a Jew." Ludwig admitted, though he wasn't all that surprised. His Jewish population had started to decline in recent years with the Nazi party's rise to power and would only continue to do so, but they were still not so rare within his borders that it would be unheard of for a non-Jew to encounter at least one at work or on the way to the store or whatever in the course of a normal day.

But Rivka's revelation did shed some light onto the mystery. Suddenly she and her family winding up in Lithuania made a whole lot more sense.

He stopped staring at the ground and looked into her face; or at least, he _would have _been looking into her face if her arm were not in the way. His next words were firm, yet not lacking in compassion. "Yes, I know what's happening to the Jews. Your homes and businesses are being seized and you're being deported to work camps by the thousands." He drew a breath, wishing like crazy that they were _alone_ right now. "And if that's what happened to you and your family, I'm sorry. If your children are in danger I'll do what I can to help, but you must understand that I am bound by the responsibilities of an Obergruppenführer and my military pledge-"

"Ludwig! They're _killing _us!" The sheer amount of raw fear, melancholy, and above all _urgency_ permeating those few simple words was staggering, especially for a dying woman whose voice had been little more than a trembling whisper only moments before.

"_Killing _you?" Ludwig echoed in a tone of incredulity, his own voice far quieter than usual. He felt a sudden lurch of cold dread in his stomach. His right hand instinctively shot out and grabbed his Maschinenpistole.

Rivka continued, her voice again weak and stilted. "They…march us to pits…make us undress…line us up…shoot us in." Her voice cracked. "Men, women…even children and infants…beaten brutally…shot." She lifted her arm up the tiniest bit and inhaled deeply, fighting back sobs. "My husband…was killed on arrival here. Now my children are next…"

"Who's doing this?" Ludwig asked, even though deep down he already knew the answer. It was a stupid question. But he had to hear it himself, had to hear her _say_ it.

"The SS Einsatzgruppen."

A subtle look of horror flickered over Ludwig's face. "But _I'm_ with the SS, and _I_ don't do that!" He was trying to comfort Rivka, though the effect was somewhat muffled by his own doubts and fears.

_My god…_

War was war and civilian casualties were an inevitable part of that. Enemy targets had to be bombed and attacked, regardless of who might be in the way and what their intentions were. Misidentification and misunderstandings happened. Sometimes innocent bystanders were in the wrong place at the wrong time and there was no way to get to the enemy without seriously wounding or killing them. This Ludwig accepted. But systematically killing innocent, harmless civilians purely because of their religious beliefs was downright _evil_, not to mention a waste of ammunition.

_They must have done something, _he reasoned, but he quickly realized that he was scraping the bottom of the barrel for justification. What could children and infants possibly have done to deserve being shot to death?

"And I've never even _heard_ of the Einsatzgruppen."

"Really? That's surprising ." The cold, firm voice belonged to the man standing next to him.

Ludwig rose off his hands and whirled on his fellow Nazis. He was careful to keep his submachinegun pointed at the ground in a nonthreatening posture; it would not do to be taken for a dangerous traitor and shot full of holes.

Damn, that light was blindingly bright. He blinked painfully as he brought a hand up to shield his eyes.

Defacto Second-In-Command continued speaking. "You're _with _an Einsatzgruppe right now." He sounded amused, in a restrained, twisted way.

Slowly, Ludwig climbed to his feet. "Is it true?" he asked point-blankly once he was again standing at full height. He squinted under his hand and tried to catch a glimpse of the other man's face through the glare. "Did you march a number of Jews to the edge of some pits, make them undress, line them up and shoot them?" His volume and tone made it clear that he expected a straight-up, no-nonsense answer right away.

And that is exactly what he got.

"Ja."

Spoken without the faintest shred of regret or remorse. So casual, in fact, that the man may just as well have been confessing to the slaughter of a bunch of pigs for an upcoming feast.

Ludwig almost flinched, and though he fought to keep his expression straight mild disbelief nonetheless swept his features. Lips slightly parted, he stared at the other German in shock. _No! They can't have…they wouldn't… _

Yet they _had. _

It made too much sense.

It made too much damn _sense. _

All the pieces of the puzzle were coming together swiftly all at once and interlocking to create a horrifyingly brutal, ugly picture: why the Jews were so jumpy and nervous lately, why they were doing crazy things, why his men were behaving the way they were…the more Ludwig learned, the more he wished he didn't know.

Yet he couldn't help it. He had to know more.

"How…how many?" he almost whispered.

"In total? Around fifty-thousand, I'd say, since the Vilnius cleansing started. We take them a few hundred at a time."

"We'd do more if we could," another voice — this one younger — pitched in, his words dripping with frustrated dismay, "but we'll get them all soon enough. Soon all of the Baltic states will be Jew-free."

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the lighting as well as they were going to, Ludwig gazed upon the still-heavily-shadowed outlines of his fellow Germans with increasing revulsion, his mouth still ever-so-slightly agape, his expression the perfect suppressed cocktail of shocked disgust touched by sorrow. But another emotion quickly flared up within him, this one much more familiar and comfortable.

"How could you do this?" he demanded angrily, glaring poison at Defacto Second before turning his attention to the rest of his men, "How could you _**DO**_ this? All of you?" His booming voice carried like thunder throughout the tunnel. If there was one thing the Nazi nation was good at, it was making himself heard. Several men gave a start; one even took a few steps back. "Have you no conscience? These are _civilians _you're rounding up and slaughtering like animals. _Harmless_ civilians!"

"They're _Jews_," Defacto Second shot acidly, "_Hardly_ harmless. They are a threat to the well-being and purity of the German nation — an inferior, dirty race of communists bent on our destruction. They need to die. _All_ of them. We have been killing them by the masses for more than a year now, under the direct orders of Heydrich and Himmler and with the blessings of the Führer himself. Everyone knows this. Everyone but _you_, it seems. My god Herrmann, how did you make it so far being so naïve? You're an Obergruppenführer _**and **_one of Hitler's elite guard. How could you _possibly_ not know?"

"I knew Hitler was using the Jews as a scapegoat for Deutschland's problems," Ludwig returned hotly, having long since grown accustomed to referring to himself in the third person when not in the company of other countries or those in the know, "I knew they were being victimized. Stripped of their rights. Attacked. Exiled to work camps. But this…" He paused momentarily, drawing a breath that he didn't really need, his mind racing ninety kilometers a minute as he watched his compatriots closely for any move that would betray even the inkling of an attack.

One of the thoughts that had been whirling around at the back of his mind for the past several seconds was that Rivka's kids were in _serious_ danger; now that that had just been thrust into the _front _of his mind, and he realized that if his men opened fire on him he would almost certainly not be able to kill or incapacitate all five of them before they sent him to Hitler. The passage was too narrow and confined, the lights were all being focused directly on him making it difficult to see, and everyone had a firearm at the ready. He had years of combat experience and physical training plus the strength, speed, and durability of a powerful country-spirit at his disposal, and that did even the playing field more, but he was still at a disadvantage. Just like a regular human, a single shot to the head or heart could instantly 'kill' him. And if he 'died' here Rivka's children were doomed — the way that crazy Führer of his operated, it could be weeks or even months before he was able to get back to Ponary. True, there was always a chance he _could_ get back in plenty of time, but that outcome relied too heavily upon unknown variables for his liking.

All of this contemplation took place in the space of only two or three seconds.

No, he would not risk Rivka's children.

As much as he hated it, he was going to have to watch how he expressed his disapproval and revulsion. At least for now, it was best to appeal to logic.

When he next spoke there was a subtle tremor to his words, "…I didn't know that they were being mass-murdered purely for being Jewish. Men, women, _and _children. Even if they're everything we've been led to believe, even if they _deserve_ it, it's still a massive waste of ammunition, money, and manhours deliberately massacring a bunch of unarmed people who never raise a hand against us."

"They've done far worse," Defacto Second threw back cynically, "To us and to Deutschland-"

"_Children_ have?"

"Age is irrelevant. A rat is a rat the second it's born. Even if that rat is taken from its rat parents and raised by humans it remains a rat." Defacto Second's voice took on a sneering, thoroughly disgusted quality. "The entire Jewish race is naturally dirty, underhanded, treacherous, evil. Why treat them as anything better than the lying, filth-spreading pieces of shit they are? They-"

"_Evil?_" Ludwig echoed in a strong tone of disbelief, "_We're_ the ones killing _them_! _Not_ the other way around!" It was amazing just how hypocritical and illogical this man's argument was. _God, I didn't know it was this bad… _

"Where do _you_ get off getting up on a moral high-horse, Herrmann?" another Nazi spat, "You kill people all the time."

"Yes, but there's a difference between killing armed men before they have the chance to kill you and your comrades and ruthlessly slaughtering subjugated, unarmed civilians who are only trying to survive."

"Calling them 'civilians' is being far too kind to them," Defacto Second said cuttingly, shifting his weight just enough to make Ludwig's already-tense muscles tighten all the more. Though his face was half-cloaked in shadow, what was visible of it was austere and hateful. He truly, passionately believed what he was saying. "The more I talk to you the more you sound like a Jew-lover; a _traitorous _Jew-lover."

The threatening semi-accusation triggered Ludwig's fight-or-flight instinct, and he came dangerously close to lifting his Maschinenpistole and opening fire right then and there. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Defacto Second remained motionless save for his breathing, and he didn't hear or see guns being raised.

Perhaps it was their respect for the chain of command holding them back. Perhaps it was doubt, or even fear.

Whatever the reason, all five of them seemed hesitant to out-and-out attack or try to arrest Ludwig, and the blonde nation had to wonder which they would ultimately choose if they _did _perceive him as a traitor.

Would they arrest him and bring him to trial, which would be standard procedure?

Or would they shoot him where he stood out of disgust and convenience?

Either way it was infuriating, and the stagnant, icy air of the tunnel was not enough to keep Ludwig's cheeks from heating with rage. _ME, a __**traitor**__? What an utterly ridiculous concept. If only they knew. _

Of course, they had no way of knowing what he was or what he was capable of; to them he was just another German: an Obergruppenführer with a perhaps suspiciously-impressive track-record for his apparent age, yes, but human.

"I'm _not_ a Jew-lover," Ludwig vehemently clarified, and he was telling the truth, "but I don't _hate_ them, either. When I look at her over there — " he nodded his head towards Rivka without taking his eyes or attention off his men, "I don't see a Jew, but a German. I know this woman. Up until recently she lived her entire life in Berlin. She did none of the crimes the Jews have been accused of." He narrowed his eyes dangerously at Defacto Second. "And if I were you, I would be _very_ careful whom I accused of treachery."

It was not an empty threat; already Ludwig was entertaining serious thoughts of murdering this particularly insubordinate subordinate. All he needed was the right opportunity, preferably without witnesses. Then Defacto Second would quite literally — and painfully — learn what it was like to be an enemy of the state.

Defacto Second went quiet. While his posture remained rock-solid and unafraid, his breaths seemed to come a little quicker, and Ludwig could almost feel the apprehension radiating from him: almost hear the other man's heart thundering in his chest.

He'd frightened him.

For a few tense moments, an icy silence gripped the tunnel as both parties regarded each other.

It was Ludwig who broke it, and while his voice remained strong it lacked much of the angry, menacing quality it had had only moments ago. "I know I was not alone in being taught to take orders without question, but sometimes you _have_ to ask questions, especially when you're ordered to kill so many unarmed civilians. The Jews are trying to tear us down, the Jews want to destroy Deutschland…how do we know this? Because the Führer said so and he's the one with all the power? Because it's easier to follow orders and kill little children alongside their mothers when we see them as vermin instead of humans? Because everyone else is doing it?" He shook his head, disgusted. "This is _wrong_. I will continue to honor my military pledge and loyally serve my country no matter what happens, but I am going to have a word with the German high command about this, including Hitler. Even if it doesn't do me any good, even if I am punished." He shot a quick, solemn glance to Rivka, who was probably already dead by now. "Someone I know is dying. Leave us. I'll meet up with you at the place where you killed those other two and we will discuss what you learned from them there. Morality aside, our top priority remains securing the area."

"Yes, Obergruppenführer." Defacto Second sounded subdued. He turned around and started back for the bodies, the other four following him.

Ludwig watched them go until their footsteps diminished to the point where they were inaudible and their lights vanished out of sight around the corner far ahead. As much as he wanted to be able to trust his own people, sometimes he just couldn't. With two young lives on the line he couldn't afford to be shot now, whether it killed him or not.

Once he was satisfied that he was out of the earshot of his men and that they could not rush back without him hearing them in enough time to react, he turned again to Rivka and knelt beside her head. "Rivka?" He reached out with his right hand and moved her arm away from her face.

Her eyes were closed, her cheeks colorless.

Ludwig frowned, somber acceptance settling over his features. Gently, he shook her shoulder. "Still alive?"

_Damn. I really wanted to tell you —_

Rivka's eyes fluttered open. "Barely." she murmured, her voice so weak and far away that if the single word hadn't been such a direct answer to his question Ludwig would have wondered whether or not she grasped he was there. The brown eyes which had once held so much warmth and friendliness were now dull and glazed over — almost empty.

Ludwig knew that look all too well. He leaned in closer until his mouth was almost touching her ear, his breath warm against cold flesh. "I promise." he half-whispered. Then he pulled away, gave her cheek a quick kiss, and took his coat back.

Save for the sounds of his activities, there was an exceptionally eerie, cold silence as he shifted his weapons around, buttoned his coat back up, and retrieved his flashlight. When he next checked on Rivka, he shone the light directly into her eyes.

No reaction; her pupils were unnaturally wide, still, and completely empty.

She was dead.

Ludwig regarded her sadly for a moment, then turned and walked back towards his men. _Rest in peace, Rivka. I'll rescue your children, if they're still alive._

It was a promise he made to himself as well as Rivka.


	6. Journey to Vilnius

**Chapter 6**

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><p>The small subset of an Einsatzgruppe Ludwig had unwittingly taken lead of hadn't been able to learn anything useful from their victims, but as luck would have it they had found the site of the original explosion almost immediately thereafter. It was a massive pile of earth and rubble fully blocking part of a tunnel — the black residue and shocked rocks were impossible to miss. After the location had been noted and the area searched for more people, weapons, and any other supplies — none of which were found — they had started back for the agreed-upon meeting place, where the other team was already waiting.<p>

The other team hadn't run into any actual people, but they had found a few undetonated explosives, a few rounds of 9mm ammunition, garbage, and signs of recent, small-scale human activity.

No one was certain who had orchestrated and executed the explosion. The most likely culprits were, of course, rebellious Lithuanians and Jews, but that raised the question of how they had managed to get their hands on weapons and explosives and sneak them into a secret underground tunnel system when the German forces kept everything and everyone under such careful surveillance. As everything of interest that had been found was of a recognizably German origin, it was unlikely these items had been smuggled in from outside Ponary, although that would always remain a possibility until proven otherwise. Most of Ludwig's company felt that it had been an inside job — that a traitorous Lithuanian officer, or perhaps even a _German_ officer — had supplied a band of rebels with explosives, weapons, and ammunition and helped them evade detection and capture.

_Why_ the explosion had occurred was another matter. There were only two logical possibilities: either the perpetrators had been deliberately trying to undermine some buildings and/or create a diversion for some purpose, or they knew a great deal about the layout of the tunnel labyrinth and were trying to unblock an important path that had caved in over the years, probably with the aim of escaping Ponary.

If the latter was true, they had failed miserably. They had used way too strong of a charge; not only had their target tunnel collapsed in completely, but the force of the blast had rippled through the ground and shaken the entire area like a small earthquake, causing cave-ins like the one that had crushed Rivka.

Personally, Ludwig leaned heavily towards the idea that it was a band of desperate Jews trying to escape Ponary. Whether they'd managed to steal the items they'd acquired on their own or had had inside help, whomever had set the blast obviously had had very little knowledge of explosives.

And what of Rivka? What had _she_ been doing down in the tunnels, when her children were alone in a ghetto in Vilnius? How was it that her husband had been killed on arrival, but she hadn't?

There was a small clue to the last in the fact that she'd been shot…perhaps that had happened during a bold escape? If it had, there had to have been more than one Nazi present. Wounded like that, how had she managed to move fast enough to get away from them and hide underground?

Disturbing. So many unanswered questions.

There was no doubt in Ludwig's mind that Rivka had had a true mother's love for her children; he couldn't envision her abandoning them even if she had managed to escape Ponary. No — the poor thing had probably been trying to make it to Vilnius where she would free them if she could and share their fate if she couldn't.

Now she was dead, and her children's last hope for survival rested on the shoulders of an SS Nazi.

The midday sun had broken through the clouds by the time they climbed up those last few hard, icy rungs, and Ludwig was forced to shield his eyes from the glare almost before he'd cleared the hole.

It was warmer up here in spite of the occasional wind-gusts, and the fresh air was a revitalizing gift after hours of walking through stagnant, earthen tunnels where everything smelled like frozen mud at best and rancid meat at worst. After everyone was up and all the equipment and evidence had been settled into carrying-friendly, sane positions, he walked with his men to the command center and made his report. Immediately afterward he excused himself from the Einsatzgruppe and started for Vilnius in a readily-borrowed military vehicle.

Vilnius…it'd been nearly a year since he'd last been through Lithunania's capitol. He didn't recall having seen any ghettos then, but surely they'd be much harder to miss now, especially if massive amounts of Jews were being forced to live there and wear those eye-catching yellow star patches.

All he had to do was keep an eye out for a bunch of Jews living in crowded conditions.

Or ask around.

The latter would yield better results, but then, he didn't want too many people getting interested in his business, especially since he doubted that what he was about to do was legal under Hitler's regime.

But then, if der Führer would frown on his playing hero to a pair of Jewish children, he would be spitting mad if he knew what the spirit of his country had done last month.

Last month, Ludwig had saved the life of a Russian scout. A _true_ enemy, not an imagined one like the Jews.

Driving onward over snow-dusted roads towards Vilnius, he couldn't help but to recall that particular incidence.

The boy had been no older than 18 at most, and had somehow managed to shoot himself in the leg and wind up all alone way out in the snowy wilderness. He'd been completely terrified when Ludwig, out on his _own_ solo scouting mission, had come across him and leveled his gun at him before he had a chance to reach for his. But since the half-frozen, lonely 'comrade' had been profoundly incompetent, too wounded to walk, and way out in the left field in his search for the German camp, Ludwig hadn't seen any harm in letting him go. His initial plan had been to simply confiscate his weapons and continue on his way, but then it had dawned on him that no, leaving the boy to slowly succumb to his injuries in freezing weather would be far more cruel than shooting him in the head and putting him out of his misery. And if he was going to take him prisoner he might as well kill him right then and there because that was essentially an agonizing death sentence with his men.

So he had turned back around, prepared to do a mercy killing. But the boy had gazed up at him with such sorrowful, impossibly large, teary eyes and pleaded desperately in his native tongue ( at least it had _sounded_ like pleading ), and, well, Ludwig just hadn't had the heart to go through with it.

Long story short, he'd ended up continuing his search for the Russian camp with Comrade slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. When he'd finally found it he'd dumped the kid off at a respectable distance, fired a few shots in the air to alert his enemies that there was something they should investigate, and then ran off.

Comrade had been very, _very_ fortunate.

The situation was different with Rivka's children, but the concept was the same — the rules dictated that he should take a course of action that did not sit well at all with his conscience.

And, as usual, for all the fuss tried-and-true by-the-book die-hard-rule-enthusiast Ludwig Herrmann put up about not breaking rules and punishing those who did — for as religiously as he followed them on a day-to-day basis — in the end there were some circumstances where he himself broke them. Because the only thing worse than deliberate rule-breaking was deliberate cruelty.

Or so he told himself, on those few rare occasions when he allowed himself to think about the matter. Today wasn't one of them.

At a distance of ten kilometers he reached the edge of larger Vilnius in minutes. From there it was a simple matter to prove his identity to the guards and drive right on in to the heart of the city unmolested. It was one of the perks of being a fairly well-known Obergruppenführer — subordinates rarely asked his business, especially if they were as far down the chain of command as Oberschütze. Of course, in the event that someone _did_ happen to ask, he could offer any reason he wanted for why he was there and they would readily accept it.

Now that he was in, it was time to locate the ghetto and find those kids.

For the first fifteen minutes or so driving around the snow-dusted city, he didn't see any tell-tale signs of a ghetto, Jewish or otherwise. The streets were bustling with Lithuanians and Germans going about their day-to-day, keeping busy with work and chores. Just as in Ponary, everyone had somewhere important to be or something important to do. The people that stayed outside were either patrolling or doing work that required them to be outside, such as cleaning windows or fixing vehicles. Not even children were dawdling.

_Good. That's proper. Discipline, order, and people being productive. But where the hell is this ghetto supposed to be?_

No one in his line of sight was wearing the Jew star. Going slowly, he turned a fresh corner and a few of his fellow SS saluted him as he went by. Ludwig acknowledged them with a serious, curt nod, but did not return the favor.

This was frustrating.

He was about to roll down the window and ask the next German he saw when he noticed that the line of houses he was passing now looked very peculiar. The doors and windows were boarded up tightly with heavy strips of wood, secure enough to keep even mice out. No smoke rose from the chimneys. Everything about these houses had a rather desolate, gloomy air about it.

That feeling of wrongness he'd experienced in Ponary came back with a vengeance, and he knew he'd found the ghetto. The houses were boarded up to keep the Jews in.

_But how do __**I **__get in? _No sooner had he thought this than he spotted the entrance: a thick, sturdily-built wooden barrier, about three meters tall, with a single large door cut in a strategic place. The door was shut and probably locked. Two armed SS guards stood vigilant directly beside it while several of the local Lithuanian militia and German soldiers alike either patrolled the perimeter or kept watch from out the second-floor windows of houses across the street.

Ludwig parked alongside the curb right in front of them and got out.

"Heil Hitler!" the two guards greeted at once in unison, clicking their boots together and standing taller, more erect, and more proudly than before with their right arms extended up and straight out in front of them and their eyes fixed respectfully on Ludwig's.

All of the nearby soldiers, both German and Lithuanian, stopped dead in their stride and mimicked the gesture, saluting Ludwig respectfully but silently.

Ludwig returned the salute in both action and words, the slight irritation that twitched at the corner of his mouth disguised by rigid authority. That whole heiling-the-Führer-by-name-as-an-official-form-of- greeting-and-farewell hadn't been so bad right at first when it was a new, different, and powerful way to show loyalty to Hitler and the Nazi ideals, but after the first few weeks it grew increasingly tiresome to praise a boss who wasn't even around to enjoy hearing it. Not only that, it helped keep the Führer up on his godly pedestal, which probably wasn't healthy considering his already-inflated ego and very _un_godly human flaws and limitations.

Why couldn't they change it to '_Heil Deutschland'_? That would make far more sense, and show a greater degree of patriotism. Bosses came and went inside of decades or centuries, but countries were capable of lasting a very long time by human standards.

Now that protocol was satisfied, Ludwig approached his men readily and paused a stride away from them. His eyes ticked up briefly to the two big white boards of wood nailed above the entrance that bore writing in all of the relevant languages labeling the enclosure as a Jewish ghetto and outlining a few hard-and-fast rules before returning to his compatriots.

"I need in there." he announced flatly, noticing with quiet pride the way they stared in admiration at his military decorations and rank insignia, "Open the door for me."

"_Jawohl!_"

Bright-eyed and obedient, the guards couldn't move fast enough. One retrieved his keys immediately and set himself on the lock while the other anxiously watched him work. The moment the door was unlocked the latter immediately pushed it inward and, stepping inside the ghetto, held it open for Ludwig.

The nation gave them an appreciative nod and entered.

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><p>S<p>

C

S

C

S

**A/N: **

"Jawohl" translates to_ "Yes Sir"._

_As always, a big thanks to all my readers out there! I will be replying to my reviews mostly via the "review reply" button from now on, but for all you anonymous types know that I deeply appreciate even the shortest comments and I'm more than happy to answer any questions you may have. Thoughts, observations, and constructive criticism are all welcome._


	7. The Ghetto

**A/N: **_Emotionally-intense chapter ahead with long author's notes at the end answering the questions and concerns of some readers. So when you're done with this chappie you have the option of either skipping 'em or whetting your curiosity._

_Also, Jacob Gens is a real historical figure who really did have the job described at this particular ghetto at the moment in time this fic takes place. To this day there is some controversy about his actions in the ghetto and whether or not he was doing the right thing. Google his name if you're curious._

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><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

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><p>The first thing Ludwig noticed about the ghetto was that it was crowded: human beings swarmed over the streets and all open areas like clouds of insects. Most were hard at work; the tiny fraction that looked to have been resting jumped to their feet and made haste busying themselves the moment they happened to catch sight of him.<p>

The next thing he noticed were the clothes: relatively few people were wearing anything that was both clean and untorn. Most of them walked around in filthy rags, or, if not outright rags, age-wearied garments that looked as though they had been worn daily without laundering for well over a week. Less than half had anything that passed for a decent coat; they packed on extra clothing or wrapped blankets around themselves to keep warm. All wore the yellow star over their left breast.

"Do you need anything, Obergruppenführer?" The guard who had opened the door for Ludwig stood with his back pressed against it, still holding it open, his posture disciplined and attentive. He regarded his superior curiously, no doubt wondering why he was here and what he meant to do inside the ghetto.

"I'm looking for someone," Ludwig replied flatly, "two someones, actually."

"Someones who are…specific?"

"Ja."

By now most of the Jews in the immediate vicinity had noticed their visitor: they kept him in the corners of their eyes without looking directly at him, warily and hurriedly going about their business. They were working very hard now — harder than they had been only moments before.

Although no one had told him specifically, Ludwig knew at once that their lives depended on keeping busy and remaining productive, especially when in the presence of the SS. It was as obvious as day in the light of everything he had just learned. _Survival of the fittest. Keep the most useful as slave-labor and exterminate the rest. _

Something inside him flinched. It was a cruel system, but also very efficient, he had to admit. It kept unproductive people from sucking up resources that could be better put to use elsewhere and kept the frightened survivors at optimum productivity.

"In that case, I'll get Gens for you. He knows just about everyone in the ghetto." The guard was only too eager to help.

Ludwig turned to dismiss him with an appreciative nod, but he was already gone, the big wooden door slamming loudly behind him. There were no sounds of the door being re-locked, but then the ghetto was bustling with activity — it would be easy to miss. Not that the blue-eyed nation was at all worried about getting trapped in here.

He started forward, passing a multi-housing complex and coming into an open area that might once have been a paved courtyard, a wide intersection, or a site cleared for some other purpose — it was hard to tell now with all the people milling about. With a guide already enroute he'd be sure not to wander too far from the front gate, but what harm could a little solo exploration do? He'd never been in this kind of a work camp before, and he was naturally curious as to how bad the Jews in here really had it.

Turned out, they had it pretty bad. Most of them — not all, but most — were malnourished and in various stages of starvation. Their clothes hung off them, their bones showed too well under their skin. They appeared to have only limited access to soap and running water, and for the most part lacked the items necessary for basic hygiene, even hairbrushes and toothbrushes. Everywhere he turned he saw sallow faces cut with deep lines, dark rings under bloodshot eyes. So many of them didn't have warm enough attire…their whole bodies shivered under whatever they were wearing, their teeth chattering as they worked outside or raced from building to building. Whenever Ludwig got too close to any of them silent terror would fall over their faces and drive them to strive extra hard to look busy doing something _very_ important.

In his haste, one man tripped over a rock and dropped the boxes he was carrying, sending empty tin cans everywhere. No one helped him pick them up; indeed, none of his fellow Jews even _looked _at him. Ludwig merely watched as, wide-eyed and frantic, the man scrambled to pick the cans up and put them back in the boxes, his head darting up every few seconds to check on Ludwig, probably to reassure himself that the Nazi wasn't about to shoot him.

Ludwig didn't so much as twitch a finger. Though the intense gaze and the harsh, no-nonsense expression he wore suggested otherwise, he didn't plan on doing Can Man any harm. _I'm not going to punish you_, he thought dryly, _Though in the future you will want to avoid accidents like this in front of the_ _SS. _

Can Man finished recovering the cans in record time and dashed into an adjacent building, sparing only one nervous backward glance.

For the first time, Ludwig noticed that the quiet chatter that had rustled through the ghetto only minutes ago had died down to a few occasional hurried whispers. No one made eye-contact with him. No one dared.

They were suffering greatly.

Suffering more greatly than the Jews who were taken to Ponary, because at least those Jews had a relatively quick death to look forward to. Better to be killed outright than worked literally to death under abominable conditions, freezing, starving, watching your loved ones die slowly before your very eyes…

_My god, it just keeps getting worse. _His heart ached, the stark sorrow of the ghetto seeping into him, troubling his thoughts.

How could his people go through with this? Slave-labor was one thing, but to make the slaves suffer like _this_ when killing them would be far kinder….for what? To save on resources? Because their immediate future read 'death' anyway, so why not exploit them to the fullest before killing them?

Something cold caught in his chest at the realization that he'd just hit the nail on the head. Jews had no place in Hitler's regime. It didn't matter how hard they worked or how much ass they kissed: every single person here was going to be used for all he or she was worth and then killed. Ruthless efficiency. Torture and kill the hated 'enemy' while simultaneously profiting at their expense.

_If only Hitler's lies were true…if only they really did deserve this…_

Ludwig had never been a huge fan of torture — especially _prolonged_ torture on this scale — but it would not be so bad if only his so-called enemies actually _were _his enemies; if they were all the things his boss and the other Nazis made them out to be, if so many of them weren't _his own damn people_.

But even though the vast majority of the prisoners in this particular labor setup were not Germans, his heart was not so closed-up that he couldn't feel compassion for them. It was not quite the same kind of compassion that he felt for his own people, but it was close. He hated to see them suffer.

Over ten minutes had elapsed since he had wandered away from the main entrance. Frustrated, he was just about to head back and see what was holding his guide up when he saw a man bounding towards him, everyone making way for him as though he were a projectile parting water.

"Generaloberst! Generaloberst!" He rushed up to the Nazi, smiling in a faintly fearful way, his dark eyes alive with excitement.

Ludwig looked him over. He was in his mid-thirties or early forties with a receding hairline and short, dark hair. The yellow star decorated his chest, but unlike most of his fellow Jews he was not thin to the point of emaciation and wore cleaner, newer attire that included a warm coat. His relatively well-kept appearance indicated that he had more regular access to hygienic necessities.

He dipped into a quick, respectful bow. "Jacob Gens at your service."

"Gens," Ludwig repeated, committing the name to memory just in case it proved useful in the future. "I take it you are in a position of authority in these parts?"

Gens straightened. "As much authority as one such as me is permitted to have. I am head of the Jewish Ghetto Police."

_In other words, you have no real authority at all, except over those waiting to die. _Ludwig thought disdainfully, but said nothing.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Herr Herrmann. It isn't often that a German general visits Vilnius." One of his eyes twitched, and Ludwig saw that he was staring at his Maschinenpistole. But then his gaze lifted quickly, and now his eyes seemed to catch on one of the Nazi's uniform decorations. "I see you are with the SS as well."

Though it was still overly friendly, now Gens's voice carried a slow, subdued sorrow, so subtle that Ludwig — who had never been all that adept at reading people — would have missed it if he hadn't been expecting it. Like any Jew in his position would, Gens was expecting the worst.

Ludwig cut to the chase. "I'm looking for two children; a five-year-old boy, and a seven-year-old girl. Surname Goldberger."

Gens tilted his head pensively. "Goldberger," he repeated quietly, "Goldberger….that's a very common surname. How long ago did they arrive?"

_Damn. _Two horrible truths hit Ludwig right then: 1), he didn't know how long ago Rivka and her children had arrived, or if they had even arrived together, and 2 ), he had already forgotten the kids' first names, which was going to make things a hell of a lot more difficult.

_They couldn't have been here for long, _he reasoned, _Rivka didn't act like it, and she wouldn't have waited long before going to them. _

"Not long. Maybe a couple of weeks." He frowned, uncertain.

This was just a guess. An educated guess, but still.

He continued, "Their names escape me at the moment, but I am sure I would recognize them if I heard them again. Their mother's name was Rivka Goldberger. She came from Berlin."

Gens blinked, his own face becoming uncertain. "Berlin? We don't get many German Jews here — mostly Lithuanians and Poles. I don't remember a Rivka Goldberger, but then I deal with so many names every day it's quite possible she simply slipped my mind." As fast as it had come, his uncertainty was swept away by a weak smile. "Of course, I would be delighted to help you search for these children. The ghetto is big to walk around in, but I know it like the back of my hand."

Ludwig nodded seriously. "Good. The quicker the better." Then, considering, he added, "Are the children confined to any one place?"

"Not generally, especially children as young as these Goldbergers you're after. They wander around doing what they can to remain obedient and useful." Gens turned and started forward. "I'll lead, if it is alright with you?" His tone and voice were very pleasant, almost cheerful.

"Naturally," Ludwig replied, annoyed and a little surprised that the man had bothered asking his permission when it was so painfully clear that that was the only arrangement that made a shred of sense. The Jew broke into a brisk walk, and he followed, keeping to his side and slightly behind. Overhead, the sun peered out from behind soapy clouds.

"It will help to ask around," Gens said presently, "Would you like me to translate for you?"

"Ja. I do speak other languages, but not Lithuanian, or Polish, or Hebrew."

Gens got to work immediately questioning the ghetto residents, who seemed to regard him with almost as much fear and respect as they did Ludwig. No one on the street they were on knew where the Goldberger children were; Gens's questions were met with bewilderment, blank expressions, and sad eyes. People shook their heads and talked back and forth, keeping always a wary eye on Ludwig, and pointed down other streets, naming others whom they thought might know. So onwards to these others they went, following up each new lead as it came to them .

The deeper he journeyed into the heart of the ghetto, the more Ludwig saw, and the more he wished he _hadn't_ seen.

_My god…_

It was like trekking into the outer realm of a frozen Hell.

Vilnius's Jews were even worse off than he had initially supposed: everyone was so utterly exhausted, cold, broken-spirited, spent, and completely miserable. Starvation was rampant — a few people were literally not much more than animate skeletons with taught, sickly skin stretched drum-tight over frail bones, their almost lifeless eyes sunken in, their teeth and fingers yellowed, their hair falling out, their expressions glazed and far away as they huddled together for warmth or painstakingly forced themselves to work until they literally fell where they stood, never to rise again. Men, women, tiny children…age didn't matter. They squabbled over the smallest bits of food that did not look fit for human consumption. Drank questionable water.

Ludwig didn't like looking at them. At first he tried his best to shut them out, focus on Gens and _only_ Gens, make them fleeting, blurry ghosts in the dark edges of his peripheral like he usually did when confronted with human suffering.

But then he realized with a terrible jolt that he _could not_ shut them out — not when he was looking for two of them — and so he kept his own search alongside Gens's, inspecting each age-range-appropriate child closely for some sign that it was one of the ones he was looking for. But the sad truth was that he could only guess as to what Rivka's children looked like based on what their mother looked like, and each time he asked Gens confirmed that no, the child was not a Goldberger.

More searching.

More black, gritty images to add to the bank of bad, heartbreaking memories.

Bloated, grossly disfigured, discolored, frost-bitten corpses lay piled off to the sides in some of the streets they passed, dead for days from the smell and appearance of them. Their clothes had long since been scavenged by their freezing brethren. The entire ghetto stank of death, decay, and other unpleasant smells, though some places were worse than others.

There were no old people — indeed, no one looked much over the age of forty, at most — and it was obvious why. _Of course the elderly would have succumbed first…if they ever made it here in the first place. _

Survival of the fittest. Literally.

They had been searching for about half an hour when Ludwig asked "How long has it been like this?"

"Hm?" Gens stopped for a moment and turned to face him, a gentle confusion dawning on him. "Forgive me, but I am not sure what you are asking. How long has what been like what?" His voice was strangely calm and casual.

"The ghetto," Ludwig elaborated, his voice softening ever so slightly, his face an indifferent mask that concealed his emotions, "Has it always been this bad?"

Gens regarded him quizzically, staring into his intense blue eyes as though he were searching for Rivka's children in them, his posture and mannerisms reminding the German of a nervous songbird that wasn't certain as to whether or not it had glimpsed danger. "What do you mean by 'bad'?" he asked carefully, plainly afraid of jumping to the wrong conclusion.

"The starvation, the crowded conditions, lack of sanitation, people freezing and dying in the streets." Ludwig gestured to a small pile of corpses, most of them children and young mothers. "I've seen less suffering and brutality on the Russian front."

Gens nodded solemnly, and for the first time Ludwig saw a bit of the mask _he_ wore slip to reveal a hint of inky sorrow that probably welled much deeper. "It used to be worse," he almost whispered, his eyes ticking off to the sides every few seconds while he spoke, scanning the nearby vicinity like nervous radar, "There used to be twice as many people packed into this ghetto. Months ago there was another ghetto across from this one that housed another ten thousand or so people. The small ghetto, Ghetto Two. But that was merely a holding place for everyone surplus and unfit, and it was completely liquidated by the end of October. This ghetto is for workers with permits and their families. Well…what members of their families they are allowed to take with them."

Ludwig looked away, his gaze coming to rest on the side of building. _This is __**wrong**__. _he thought, over and over again, overcome with a mild case of surreal shock. He closed his eyes and began breathing a little more deeply than usual, ignoring the stench and the way the icy air burned his nostrils and bit into his exposed flesh.

Everything changed.

The noise of languages he didn't understand being spoken became the lively chatter of joyous songbirds. The gray sky exploded into the brilliant brightness of a perfect cloudless day. He could almost feel the warmth of the sun on him, all but smell the unbelievably sweet, mouth-watering scent of apples and berries floating on the lazy summer breeze. The tart, delicious taste of applewine lingered on his lips. Warm, yellowed grass crunched pleasantly beneath his bare feet.

He was the North German Confederation again, back on the day of his birth, frolicking in a beautiful apple orchard for the sheer joy of being alive, every moment more magical than the one before.

Prussia was there too: his dear, beloved brother, although he had not thought of the strong white-haired nation with the human alias of Gilbert Beilschmidt as his brother the time.

"_I want to be a great nation someday too!" _His voice was a child's in his mind, full of hope, innocence, vitality, and the unadulterated dreams of endless possibilities, _"I'll grow up into a big, strong knight, and we can save our people together! Evildoers will know better than to mess with me!"_

Beaming, laughing, swelling with pride, love, and tipsy happiness, Prussia had supported him one hundred percent. _"I'd bet my whole army on it, kid!"_

_I failed. I can't protect my people. Instead of vanquishing evildoers, I serve them. _

The coldness rushed back like wind borne of a hurricane and hit him in the face like a truck. The warm, golden memory shriveled up like a photograph thrown into a fire.

He felt something hard and vaguely warm in his fingers, and when he opened his eyes he realized he was holding the little iron cross that was attached to the necklace he'd worn since before the Great War. He rubbed the piece of metal between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its every contour, echoing the actions of Prussia decades ago.

"_It's shiny, isn't it?" _Gilbert's bright, cheerful words rang out through the darkness across space and time.

Ludwig held his own iron cross up in order to see it better, a muted sorrow touching his face.

_No. _It was losing all its shine. He kept it well-polished as his brother had taught him, and visibly it didn't _look_ much different, but still, somehow, it seemed less lustrous now than it had ever before.

He let it fall back against his chest. Lowering his head, he exhaled a long, deep sigh.

Then a fire flared up from somewhere within him, swift and fierce, traveling up his body and shining out his eyes. He turned to face Gens with steely determination, his stare acid-clear and unyielding, his face once again hard and strong.

Gens, street-smart as always, had paused and allowed him to have his moment in uninterrupted silence. He stood patiently at a respectful distance, looking back at Ludwig with a mixture of professional composure, cordiality, and curiosity tinted with sadness and wonder.

"We _will_ find them," Ludwig said savagely, his voice as powerful as if he were commanding fate itself, "if I have to turn this ghetto inside-out." He locked eyes with Gens and started a trembling behind the other man's eyes. "Gens! I am running out of patience. Start _everyone_ searching — tell them I'll start a random head-count reduction program if they don't." He reached into his trenchcoat and withdrew his PPK, deftly removing the safety and cocking it.

_I wont, but they don't know that. _

He hated having to frighten these people even more like this, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If they were still alive, Rivka's children were living on borrowed time; he had to find them before the Einsatzgruppen did. If they were not still alive he wanted to learn as quickly as possible so he could leave this depressing hellhole full of suffering and put it far behind him.

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><p>S<p>

C

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**A/N: ** Whew, long ones this time! They likely won't ever be this long again. Here goes:

**Poisonlovely: **You asked a good question and made an observation others had noticed/wondered about, so for you and everyone else out there wondering the same, I shall do my best to answer and clarify. Thank you kindly for the comments, and I hope I'm able to satisfactorily answer your questions! :D

_**Wouldn't the other Nazis have reacted more violently/harshly towards Ludwig upon discovering that he wasn't an anti-Semite?**_

Absolutely Ludwig's fellow Nazis aren't thrilled with his ridiculously ( in their opinion ) lenient stance on Jews. However, Ludwig is an incredibly high-ranking officer — a general in the Wehrmacht and the equivalent in the SS — widely known to regularly be in direct contact with Hitler himself. Combined with his extremely commanding, powerful, presence; his apparent fearlessness; a very impressive track-record for his apparent age; and the fact that he is practically famous for his tendency to make it out of extremely dangerous situations ( namely battlefields and Hitler-assassination attempts ) almost unscratched, you get the perfect recipe for fear and respect. Everything I've seen and read indicates that WWII-era Germans had a _very_ healthy respect for the chain of command, especially for those high up the ladder. Insubordination was a serious matter that could easily get the insubordinate person killed.

The Einsatzgruppe suspects Ludwig of treason, but they don't yet have the smoking gun they need to prove it: it's pretty much their word against his right now. Since he's not only a decorated general, but Hitler's personal buddy ( as far as they know ), getting some damning evidence is critically important, because if they make an unsubstantiated claim of treason and the high command calls BS, it could potentially end very badly for them.

As to why they didn't just play dirty by shooting him and blaming it on their enemies, keep in mind that Ludwig's revelation of not being an anti-Semite came relatively suddenly. "Relatively" in the sense that the Einsatzgruppe in question didn't get a chance to get away from him and have a proper group-discussion about it. So if, for example, Defacto Second had decided to open fire on Ludwig, he would have had no way of knowing whether the rest of the unit would have followed suit or turned their guns on HIM for the openly traitorous act of attacking their commanding officer. Any member of the group contemplating murdering Ludwig would have been faced with the same dilemma of not knowing who was on their side and who remained loyal to Ludwig. No matter how anti-Semitic you are, it's hardly the kind of thing you'd want to risk your life over, especially since in every other respect Ludwig was demonstrating strong leadership and something of a willingness to try to approach the matter from their perspective ( as evidenced by his little speech on how he knew they were conditioned to take orders without question, etc. ).

So it was less that the Einsatzgruppe were understanding and more that they were too afraid for their own safety and well-being to go against Ludwig right then and there. Doesn't mean their suspicion and disgust vanished, and you'll definitely see evidence of that later on. ( Also, as a little extra, at least one of that Einsatzgruppe WASN'T on Defacto Second's side, but I don't know whether or not I'll get into that in this story. I'll just say that human beings are complex creatures and that, for this man, there was more at play than simply how he felt about Jews. )

_**These are the Nazi years. Why isn't Ludwig more Nazi-ish? Shouldn't he have a darker personality/disposition? **_

Okay, answering this in two parts:

**1) **To answer the first question, there was more to Nazism than the whole racial-purification-kill-all-undesirables component ( though that was a large and important part of it ). It was essentially a form of extreme right-wing socialism, a political party with many objectives and aims stretching into several sectors of influence for making Germany a mighty nation and a great place to live.

As I touched on in the second chapter, the unjust persecution ( and now genocidal ) aspect is really the only thing Ludwig doesn't like about being a Nazi. Every other core principle he either loves, supports, or is at least open to. Here are just a few:

**Nationalism** — For Ludwig is a very proud creature and loves the praise and adoration lavished on him in addition to the heightened sense of kinship it inspires his people to feel towards him. As the living personification of Germany he has a very deep connection to and love for his people, and despite his pessimistic attitude about certain things he actually has a pretty glowing self-image. While race isn't completely meaningless to him and he does harbor a few latent racial prejudices, he cares far more about a person's nationality than what they look like or what they believe. He sincerely believes Germans are superior to every other nationality on Earth and always has, pretty much from the time he was "born".

**Develop and maintain a strong military…and use it! **— Ludwig is a warmonger. For him, war is like a challenging, thrilling game, and he really gets off on ( the way he sees it ) exerting dominance and power over others. He is also rather selfish and loves conquest for all the benefits it can net him and his people. He does not necessarily _**hate**_ his enemies, either the nation-spirits themselves or their people. It also gives him the chance to show off and exercise his combat and strategizing prowess.

**Eliminate unemployment and supercharge the economy** — He wants the best for his citizens ( and also himself, since a strong economy keeps him strong and healthy ). As far as he is concerned, these ends are being achieved beautifully under Hitler's regime.

**Tight control on everyone **— Because the perfect world can only exist with 8,213,784,765 laws, rules, and regulations, all strictly enforced for the collective good of the people.

As for acting like a Nazi in other regards, he has that pegged with his usually harsher-and-louder-than-necessary voice, his borders-on-an-irritated-scowl neutral expression, the predatory gaze he tends to fix people with whether he means to or not, and his strict ( most of the time! ), no-nonsense adherence to the rules and enforcing them. He's good at giving the impression that he's harsher than what he really is and tends to frighten people a lot without even trying, just by being himself.

**2) **The reason I don't portray Ludwig with a darker, crueler personality during this timeframe is because he is the embodiment of **ALL** of Germany, not just the Nazi party. Germans are Germans regardless of race and religious views. I don't see nation-spirits as hollow walking reflections of current popular thinking. Even in Himaruya's canon they posses cornerstones of individuality that don't change through the years. You'll see what I mean as the story progresses._**  
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	8. To Beat a Train

**Chapter 8**

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><p>"<em>Jawohl<em>!" Gens was animated, all too eager to comply with the rather frightening request. Off to the sides and all around, people went deathly still, staring in silent horror at the Nazi. A little girl started to cry somewhere and her mother clapped a hand over her mouth, hushing her to be quiet. "But first, may I ask, do these children have any living relatives here? A father? An uncle? An adult brother or sister? _Anyone_?"

Ludwig frowned. "I don't think so. Their parents are both dead. If they have any other relatives here, I don't know about them."

It was Gen's turn to frown. "We must hurry then — if they're not already at Ponary, they'll be there very soon. Unclaimed orphans are always sent there first opportunity."

_Scheiße. _Ludwig pointed his weapon at Gens. "What the hell are you waiting for?" he snapped, "Get to it!"

The gun was probably unnecessary, but it sure sped things up. Gens whirled on the nearest group of people and began shouting something in first Lithuanian, then Polish. He gestured to Ludwig as he spoke, and the German heard his name. He also heard the name Goldberger.

At once everyone dropped what they were doing and flew into a frenzy of activity. Fear ran rampant in their eyes as well as their voices as they immediately began looking around and questioning everyone they knew. Gens must have told them to spread the message, because they rushed into buildings and emerged with many more people of almost every age present who joined in the hunt with just as much vigor and passion. Several of them cast a nervous eye to Ludwig: in particular, Ludwig's weapons.

"This way! We have a lead."

Gens broke into a run and Ludwig followed close behind. They had barely gone half a block's length when the Jew halted in front of a tired, world-weary woman who appeared to be in her thirties. She had been walking towards them with intent, but when she spoke her voice lacked the energy and enthusiasm her legs had had.

Gens started talking to her in rapid-fire Lithuanian.

The exchange was brief. When it had finished Gens turned to his Nazi superior with a glum expression. "The train to Ponary arrived ahead of schedule. It'll be leaving any minute now."

"_Scheiße!_"This time the word slipped out in a desperate, urgent hiss. "Which way to the train station? How far?"

Gens's finger shot out in a diagonal direction, the view obstructed by people and buildings. "That way. Three blocks over at the barrier. You can't miss it if you keep heading that way and keep close to the barrier."

That was all Ludwig needed to hear. He shot off like a rocket without so much as a backward glance, his gun held sideways up against his chest. _I hope I'm not too late_, he thought frantically, his heart pumping faster, his legs flying under him. He tapped into as much of his supernatural speed as he dared, focusing his sharp vision and his complete attention only on his goal, the path, and the obstacles in his way. Everything else was unimportant.

Even running nowhere near his top speed, he was still going fast enough that most of the people in his way didn't have time to move. He threaded his way through as many of them as he could, lashing out with his arms and knocking aside the rest.

Pleasantly, it took less time than he had imagined to cover three congested blocks going at what felt like a slow jog, and following Gens's instructions he found the ghetto's exit rather easily. The big wooden doors were closed; Ludwig pushed against them and confirmed his suspicion that they were locked from the outside. No guards were in sight.

_Damn! _Deeply annoyed at having to feign human limitations in a time like this, the nation thrust his PPK skyward and fired a couple of shots at the clouds. "It's Obergruppenführer Herrmann!" he shouted loudly "LET ME OUT!"

Movement on the outside, the scratch of metal against wood. The moment the first gap appeared between the doors Ludwig shoved them open, almost knocking the Nazis on the other side down on their asses in his haste.

There was the train, sitting motionless on the tracks. Loads of people were crammed shoulder-to-shoulder inside the ventilated boxcars like cattle. Save for some hushed conversation and whimpering, they were pretty quiet and subdued. A light snow began to fall; some of them reached out with cupped hands to catch it.

Ludwig relaxed a little. The train was still here.

Now to find the children…

The two SS guards who had opened the doors for him respectfully heiled him in Hitler's name, but at that very moment Ludwig looked to his left and caught sight of something happening a few meters down the platform that made him forget all about formalities.

What appeared to be the last group of Jews chosen for slaughter in Ponary today was being herded into an open boxcar by about half a dozen armed Lithuanian soldiers. As Ludwig watched, one of the Lithuanians — a young man around the age of eighteen — turned and brutally kicked a small boy in the stomach, sending him flying into the side of a brick house.

_What the hell? _

Snarling savagely in his native tongue, the Lithuanian dove for the winded child and grabbed him up by the ankles.

A couple of meters away from the spectacle, a little girl screamed. She was grabbed and silenced immediately by the hand of another Lithuanian soldier.

In a sickening, jaded flash Ludwig knew what the man intended to do — he was going to swing the boy headfirst into the brick wall, breaking his neck, cracking his skull, and shattering his little face.

Ludwig's eyes narrowed with cold, deadly precision. He lifted the PPK and took aim.

The Lithuanian shuffled the struggling boy into a more comfortable position for himself and made ready to swing, but he never got the chance. A bullet tore through the side of his head above his ear, its report ringing loud and clear through the still winter air. He dropped where he stood like a sack of bricks, falling over on one side with the child landing on top of him.

_Got you. _Ludwig thought smugly, relieved. He'd had years of experience and practice with firearms, and he knew objectively that he was a pretty good marksman — easily as good as most snipers — but anything could have gone wrong, and if he had been even a little off the mark this rescue could have turned into a tragedy.

The line of Jews moving into the boxcar stopped, and the soldiers stopped paying attention to them. A deathly near-silence fell over the platform as everyone registered what had happened, their eyes shifting rapidly between Ludwig, who, with his weapon still raised and pointed, stood out as the obvious source of the gunshot, and the fresh corpse laying on the ground.

"Woo! _Nice_ shot, Obergruppenführer." one of the SS guards cheered.

"Wait…that wasn't a Jew." The second guard was a little more perceptive than his comrade.

Ludwig didn't dignify either of them with so much as a backward glance. "I need that boy for questioning." he explained tersely, letting his arm drop to his side and lighting off towards the gathering. It was all the explanation subordinates needed, and true to form they did not ask questions. Not that they likely cared about the reason behind why a non-German had been killed anyway, whether he happened to be Jewish or not.

The remaining Lithuanian soldiers sure cared though. All five lowered their weapons, straightened their backs, and saluted Ludwig with the highest degree of respect as he approached, their faces crisp, attentive, and anxious.

The little girl who had screamed earlier was free now. She rushed over to the boy, pulled him off the dead man, and helped him sit up.

Ludwig slowed to a normal walk, studying the children intently as he rapidly closed the distance between himself and them. When he'd fired the gun moments ago, his only thought had been to save an innocent boy a lot of pain. It hadn't occurred to him right then in that particular moment in time that the boy looked about five years old, the girl about seven…

_Please be Rivka's! _He couldn't help himself; his pulse quickened along with his pace, his hopes and excitement climbing. A quick scan of the assemblage told him that these two were the only children present, which immediately struck him as odd, but promising. Hadn't Gens said German Jews weren't usually sent to this particular ghetto? Perhaps there had been some confusion at some point which had delayed their trip to the killing grounds.

The girl child shivered as he neared and clutched the boy close to her chest, her arms wrapped around him protectively. Ludwig stopped directly in front of them and looked down, his boots almost touching the boy's legs.


	9. Arik & Nessa

**Chapter 9**

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><p>They were definitely the right ages. The girl had naturally curly, copper-tinted light brown hair that fell limply past her shoulders. Her eyes were dark, but not brown-dark — probably hazel. As far as little girls went she appeared to have a medium build, but even in a sitting position with the boy covering much of her front it was obvious that she was underweight. She wore a white button-up blouse and a plain, cornflower-blue skirt. The boy propped up against her chest was breathing heavily, his whole body trembling violently with pain and quiet sobs. He was bundled up in a little brown jacket bearing the yellow star, his eyes shut tightly, tears streaming down cheeks that were far too lacking in baby-fat. His messy hair was almost the same shade of dark brown as Rivka's. Both children were incredibly filthy, and there was hardly a square inch on either of them that wasn't caked with dirt, mud, or some staining substance.<p>

_Poor little things. _Ludwig really hoped these were the children he was looking for; he hated looking into the sad faces of freezing, starving, suffering children and having to move on without helping them because they weren't Rivka's and he couldn't very well go around saving every Jewish child in the area.

"You two. State your surnames." In spite of his intentions, his voice was no softer and his tone no less severe than if he were grilling a pair of enemy POWs who had just killed one of his men. It was deliberate — as much as he wanted to help these children, it would not do to be caught comforting them. People were watching and word spread fast, particularly as it pertained to German-Jew relations and possible 'Bolshevik sympathizers' inside the SS. Now that he'd raised a few eyebrows within an Einsatzgruppe he would have to be more careful than ever about everything he said and did in public.

The girl recoiled and pulled the boy even more tightly up against her chest, as though she thought doing so would somehow help protect him from the Nazi general.

Ludwig thought it was cute, touching, and sad all at once.

"Goldberger," the girl replied just loudly enough to be heard, her fear-ridden eyes fixed anxiously on Ludwig, "We're both Goldbergers. Brother and sister."

"And your first names?" Ludwig demanded, his hopes rising along with his spirits.

"I'm Nessa. My brother's name is Arik."

"Your mother is Rivka, right?" _Yes! Those names __**DO**__ sound familiar! _By this point Ludwig was damn sure they were the ones, but a little confirmation never hurt. He suppressed the relief that begged to express itself on his features, pushed it down firmly behind a mask of stern authority.

Nessa nodded, the fear in her eyes deepening and mixing with sorrow. "Yes." she almost whispered, as though she were somehow able to sense that something horrible had happened to her mother.

"Momma's alright, is she?" Arik choked out weakly in between sobs. He opened his eyes and glanced with morbid curiosity to the corpse of his would-be killer.

Ludwig didn't answer him. Instead he turned to the Lithuanian soldiers, so motionless and silent they could have passed for wax models if not for the subtle rising and falling of their chests and the movement of their eyes. Their expressions, however, were anything but relaxed or indifferent. Ironically, the downtrodden, weaponless Jews seemed less apprehensive than they were.

_Courage at its finest. _No wonder Lithuania was always getting conquered — her people had even less backbone than she did.

"I need these," Ludwig announced flatly, leaving no room for argument, and although he made no gestures in their direction it was obvious to anyone that he was talking about the children, "Carry on without them."

One of the Lithuanians gave a curt nod and saluted again. "As you command, Obergruppenführer." His accent was startlingly thick. He turned and grunted what sounded like a command in Lithuanian to his comrades, and they picked up where they had left off herding their human cargo into the boxcars. However, there was an air of anxiety about them now, and they kept a wary eye on not only Ludwig, but the two SS guards stationed at the ghetto's exit.

The Jews, for their part, seemed no more concerned than they had initially been, which was understandable since it didn't matter to them who was forcing them into the train so long as they were being forced in there. They stepped up into the boxcar and crowded in like a bunch of obedient sheep. For people enroute to immediate death they were pretty calm and accepting about it.

Ludwig wondered if they knew what was in store for them at Ponary, whether they expected to be mass-murdered or merely thought they were being transported to another area for work. Not that it mattered, really. In the end their fate would be the same regardless of what they believed.

Such gloomy thoughts in mind, he turned his attention back to Arik and Nessa. The others were doomed, but these two…these two he could save.

Maybe.

_I'm going to have to find you two a nice home far, far away from here. _he thought as he stared into Nessa's eyes, causing her to flinch a little, _That's going to be easier said than done. _

There would be time to worry about that later; right now he needed to get these kids into safer quarters, cleaned up, and fed.

Returning the handgun to its place in his inner coat, he bent down and slid an arm underneath Arik.

Nessa didn't like that. "Please! Please don't hurt my brother!" Her voice was small and trembling, her arms wound tightly around Arik in a deathgrip.

His right arm still under the boy, Ludwig used his left to gently — at least, he _hoped_ gently — pull Nessa's arms free, literally feeling no resistance even though the girl was putting everything she had into it. Biting the bullet and forcing himself to ignore all the filth coating the child, he scooped Arik up and pressed him against his chest, scooting him up into a comfortable position where his throat and chin rested snugly on his left shoulder.

There. He couldn't do anything about the child's immense stomach pain, but he could keep him from having to walk. That would make him a little more comfortable, at least.

He moved up alongside Nessa, who lowered her head and stared at the ground, glittering snowflakes falling into her hair and clinging to it like a delicate shroud.

"Nessa," Though his voice was as firm as his expression, it wasn't particularly cold or menacing. "Get up and grab my arm. Don't let go of it whatever you do. We're going for a walk."

Nessa looked up and blinked, processing. "A walk? A walk to where?" She climbed to her feet and did as she had been instructed, grabbing the sleeve of Ludwig's trenchcoat at his elbow, right below the swastika armband.

"My place." Ludwig answered simply, then, noticing a potential problem added, "Arik, don't move too much — my Maschinenpistole's hanging under you and I don't want it dropped, damaged, or accidentally going off. Am I clear?"

Arik made a noise that sounded something like the whimpering moan of a puppy that had just been jostled into an uncomfortable position. "Ja." he answered weakly, moving an arm up around Ludwig's neck.

The Nazi shifted his arm into a more comfortable position underneath the boy, taking care not to disturb the Maschinenpistole too much. The safety was on, but one could never be too careful. He wanted to put his right hand over Arik's back for extra support and security, but he knew how that would look to his comrades. As it was they were going to have questions, namely what possible business a Wehrmacht-SS general could have with a pair of Jewish children destined for the Ponary pits. They wouldn't dare ask him about it, of course — not directly — but the more anti-semitic he appeared, the better.

A glance in their direction reassured Ludwig that the Lithuanians weren't trying anything low, sneaky, and ultimately suicidal: they were still heavily engrossed in the task at hand.

Feeling that it was safe enough to turn his back on them, he broke into a brisk walk back towards the ghetto exit, shooting another glance — this one lightning-quick — over his shoulder after the first few steps just to make doubly sure.

His stride quickly proved to be too much for Nessa, who had to jog a little to keep up. "Ehp! You're going too fast!"

"Deal with it."

Whatever didn't kill her would only make her stronger.

Nessa dealt with it, or at least kept her complaints to herself. At one point Ludwig felt her slip on a patch of ice that had frozen into a slight dip in the concrete, but her grip on him kept her from going down and skinning her knee. They kept moving.

The guards stared at the kids with a cool, calculating curiosity as they approached.

"Adler! Brandt! It's Hauptmann! Open the gates!"

The loud, booming voice from the other side of the barrier-wall made the two men jump. Just as they had with Ludwig, they at once set upon the task of unlocking and opening the gates.

_Hauptmann? _The verging-irritated-scowl that Ludwig wore as a neutral expression deepened and turned more genuine. From the way Adler and Brandt were reacting this Hauptmann was someone they knew well, almost certainly a superior.

He and the children reached the gates just as they were pulled open. A man in a gray uniform and matching trenchcoat stepped out. Adler and Brandt gave him the usual greeting, to which he responded with an abrupt salute. Just beyond him, still fully within the confines of the ghetto and looking more anxious than ever, stood Gens.

Having dispensed the pleasantries, Hauptmann took a few more steps forward, allowing the guards to hastily close and re-lock the gates behind him. His eyes snapped onto Ludwig. "Ah, Obergruppenführer Herrmann. I heard you were in the area. A pleasure to meet you."

His tone was cheerful enough, but there was something in his voice that Ludwig didn't like. He felt Nessa's grip on his arm tighten.

Tempting as it was, he avoided looking at her. "Pleasure's mine," he said, though he was not able to fake delight as well as some of his men.

Hauptmann advanced on them, his eyes harsh and gray as hailstones. Everything about him gave an air of strength and authority; his cheeks were hard, his jaw firm and well-set, his neck lean and strong. He was taller than Ludwig, and appeared to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. Wisps of honey-blonde hair — the exact same shade as Ludwig's — poked out from under his hat.

He stopped in front of the other Nazi, his posture straight and vaguely menacing. A subtle frown troubled his countenance as he studied first Arik, then Nessa.

It was then that Ludwig noticed that there was something different about his uniform. His right-side collar patch was plain black without insignia, as was his cuffband. His shoulderboards were patterned differently than the SS, and in a poisonous shade of green…

His eyes jumped immediately to Hauptmann's lower left sleeve, where his suspicions were confirmed. Sure enough, there was the white "SD" inside the diamond-shaped black patch.

_Oh great. The Gestapo. What a nuisance. _

The Gestapo were Hitler's secret police, though these days they were a badly-kept secret. Originally they'd all worked undercover dressed as ordinary civilians, but after one too many accidents involving plain-clothes Gestapo being misidentified and shot by the Wehrmacht they'd been ordered to wear the gray SS uniforms while in occupied territories.

Gray SS uniforms with slight alterations, the most noticeable being the addition of the "SD" diamond and the lack of the "SS" collar runes.

As a specialized part of the intelligence agency, it was the Gestapo's job to stick their noses as deeply into everyone's business as they could in an effort to ferret out traitors, spies, and underground resistance operations. They also helped the Kripo handle everyday lawbreakers, but their primary task was to gather as much information about potentially dangerous or suspicious activity as they could and react accordingly. This included performing searches, interrogating people, eavesdropping, spying, making arrests, filing reports, confiscating illegal and illegally-acquired items, and even on-the-spot executions. They were hyper-alert to their surroundings and very thorough: the shakiest rumor out of a child's mouth or the slightest deviation of anyone or anything from the ordinary could launch them into a full-scale investigation.

Ordinarily, that was a _good_ thing, and Ludwig was proud of their slyness, efficiency, by-the-book methodology, and dedication to duty. They zealously protected the interests of the Reich as well as the safety and stability of German forces stationed all over Europe.

However, just this once he found himself wishing they were a little worse at their jobs. Hauptmann's being here was no coincidence. No, someone on that damn Einsatzgruppe had reported him as a suspicious character; it _had_ to be Defacto Second.

The thought was infuriating. Once he'd taken care of these kids that bloodthirsty, insubordinate asshole was going straight to the Russian front. He'd make sure of it. There he would at least be useful, and if he happened to die in the line of duty, so much the better.

"I see you've stopped a pair of Jewish children from getting on the train." Hauptmann noted almost casually in that same too-cheerful tone, smiling thinly as he met Ludwig's gaze. "Have something else in mind for them?"

Clever.

Framing his questions as friendly curiosity allowed him to probe a superior without coming off as insubordinate or accusing.

"I do." Unyielding blue eyes locked with steely gray. Technically, barring overt and indisputable acts of treachery, Ludwig was not required to explain himself to the Gestapo. Odds were excellent that Hitler and his highest-ranking subordinates had not ordered an investigation on him: what would the point be when they already knew his biggest secret? Yet it would not do to create even more suspicion, so a coverup was needed.

Right now.

Anything but the truth would work.

"They're needed for questioning. And, _you know_." Ludwig jerked his head slightly to the right, implying a shared, unsaid understanding between adults that couldn't be brought out into the open and discussed in the presence of children. It was the first thing that had popped into his mind.

Mild confusion played across Hauptmann's face. He wasn't getting the drift. "I do?"

Ludwig gave a curt nod. "Top secret. I can't say more in their presence."

"But they're just children," Hauptmann's curiosity was too much for him. "Surely they don't speak German…"

"They do. They're from Germany. Berlin, actually."

Hauptmann's frustration was evident. He regarded his Obergruppenführer quizzically, and Ludwig could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "_German _Jews?" he mused, "Not many get sent here. Their parents must have been important."

"_Are_ important," Ludwig pretended to correct, boosting Arik up a little more when the child squirmed in his grasp, "As important as the explosion that happened beneath Ponary this morning. You know where this is heading." _Hurry up and pick up on the fact that I'm using them as bait to capture their free and troublesome parents. _

A satisfied, knowing smirk came to Hauptmann's face. He had indeed caught on. "I see. Anything I can help you with?"

"Nein."

Hauptman looked disappointed. "Are you sure? These matters are usually handled by the Gestapo, after all. A little unusual that an Obergruppenführer such as yourself would take the time to bother with such trifling affairs."

"I'm bothering because I want to," Ludwig said frankly, his stare stern and powerful, "I know the woman involved. I'll have an easier time getting her and her husband where I want them, trust me."

Hauptmann nodded in defeat. "Fair enough."

Ludwig turned his attention to the guards, who had been quietly and respectfully watching and listening the whole time. "Open the gate back up."


	10. Securing Shelter

**Chapter 10**

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><p>Saving the children from a cruel end at Ponary had been only half the battle. Now that he had them in his custody, it fell upon Ludwig to take care of these two little lives, to procure them adequate food, warm clothing, regular access to hygiene, and a safe place to stay. Equally-if-not-more-importantly, he had to protect them from all who would harm them, especially his own men.<p>

Luckily for Arik and Nessa, he was a very powerful man, both socially and physically. So long as he managed to keep their staying with him low-key and explained in ways that minimized suspicion, he figured he had a fairly decent chance of arranging a trip for them out of Lithuania and into the hands of a caring relative or motherly stranger living in far away lands. But there was still plenty of room for things to go tragically wrong. One little slip-up was all it took, and should Hitler get too antsy to speed up his arrival to Berlin the situation was going to get a hell of a lot more complicated regardless. As it was the Führer had told him to hurry. Considering that he could in fact appear by him instantly if he so chose by committing suicide — something which he _hated_ doing, but nonetheless had as a viable option if he could find a private place to do it — he may already be taking too long. Of course, he had no way of knowing for sure if his boss had meant for him to use that rather undesirable method of transportation — Hitler knew better than to outright command him to kill himself when others could be listening in — but he wouldn't put it past him.

The trek back through the Vilnius ghetto was just as miserable as the trip into it had been. Once again reducing the people in his field of vision to faceless, featureless, expressionless ghosts engaged in various nondescript activities in the background, Ludwig guided the children through as swiftly as he could, carrying Arik the whole way and slowing down only for a few seconds at a time to give Nessa a chance to catch her breath. Once or twice morbid curiosity prompted him to look down at the girl's face to gain some insight into how she might be feeling and reacting to the sights and sounds around her.

Her expression was…hard to describe. Sad acceptance beset with worry was the best way to explain it. She was clearly upset, but nothing seemed to shock or surprise her.

Made sense, considering that she and her brother had spent at least the last couple of weeks living here. They'd probably been through a lot in that time, seen and experienced things no child should ever have to see or experience.

At last they were out and walking freely along the footpaths. By now the snow had stopped falling and a few of the clouds had burned off, leaving the sun high and unobscured in afternoon the sky. Nonetheless an icy chill still hung in the air, and Nessa was pale and shivering by the time they reached Ludwig's vehicle.

The blonde nation loaded them both in the front seat with him. They were silent as tombs the entire half hour or so he drove around the streets of Vilnius trying to figure out where the best place to lodge for the night would be. Arik had fallen asleep with his head on his sister's lap under five minutes into the drive — Ludwig suspected he'd been sleeping in his arms for most of the time he'd been carrying him through the ghetto, too — and Nessa was probably either too frightened, too tired, or too overwhelmed to feel that talkative. She spent most of the trip leaning languidly against her door with a subdued, faraway look on her face, occasionally staring at her unlikely rescuer but averting her gaze whenever those intense blue eyes happened to glance her way.

Finally Ludwig decided on a small hotel located far enough away from all the main sites of interest to afford them a greater measure of privacy, yet close enough to a few stores to make shopping for necessities quick and easy. The receptionist at the front desk had been surprised to see two young children with him — two young _Jewish_ children at that, as he could not remove the yellow stars without making all three of them look fishy — but he bought the story of them being needed for interrogation under special circumstances, and after Ludwig proved his identity, paid the fee, and signed in the ledger they were set up with a room.

Room 12, to be exact. Located all the way at the end of the corridor on the first floor, to the left.

This time Arik was going to have to walk. Ludwig had to keep up the façade of heartless SS Obergruppenführer, and anyway the boy's stomach had to be feeling a little better by now. A little mild exercise would do him good.

"March."

"Mhhm?" Arik groaned groggily, looking up at the Nazi with confused, sleep-ridden green eyes.

Ludwig caught his gaze and held it in his own, rigid authority burning strongly behind frosty blue irises.

"He wants us to start walking." Nessa explained hurriedly, a tremor of fear in her voice as she took her little brother by the wrist and pulled him towards the main corridor, "Come."

"Take the lead," Ludwig instructed her, "Room Twelve, all the way down. I'll follow behind."

Following behind better enabled him to watch and protect the children; his PPK was on standby in his inner coat, and he was fully prepared to use it lethally — even against his own officers — if he had to. In all likelihood the need wouldn't arise, but it was far better to be safe than sorry, especially where the Einsatzgruppen and rumors of his possible betrayal were concerned. At this point Ludwig wouldn't put anything past them.

Of course, he would never tell Arik and Nessa that he would kill to keep them safe. The more they believed his little charade of being just another ruthless asshole was real the more convincing it would be. Fear was the healthiest thing in the world for them right now.

Nessa uttered something that sounded like a weak '_Yes sir_' and started down the hallway at what for her probably qualified as a brisk pace.

Arik was barely able to keep up.

_That Lithuanian must have kicked him harder than I thought. Poor little guy. _Ludwig resisted the temptation to pick him up and carry him again. They had such a short way to go — _surely_ he could make it _that_ far.

He could. They reached their room without running into anyone along the way.

Ludwig keyed open the lock and herded his two young charges inside. When everyone was in he shut the door solidly behind them and locked it.

Then he switched on the light and had a look around.

The main room was just as bare and Spartan as he expected, but slightly larger. Bare off-white walls halted at a thin tan carpet that covered the whole floor except a square patch to the immediate left where a small, round wooden table sat surrounded by four modest chairs. A queen-sized bed hugged the far right-hand corner of the room; a more child-fitting full-size version ran along the wall to the far left. The door to the bathroom faced the smaller bed. Apart from the garbage can flanking the table-and-chairs corner, the only other furnishings were a medium-sized nightstand situated near the head of the larger bed and the radio that sat atop it. Everything was flawlessly, immaculately clean, and the beds were made with military-precision. A faint scent of cleaners lingered in the air.

_Not bad. Not bad at all. _Ludwig liked the clean environment and simple layout. It kept things orderly and efficient, reminded him of his own orderly and efficient forever sparkling-clean home. _Shelter secured. Now on to the next order of business, washing these…_

"Are…are y-you going t-to…sh-shoot us?" Arik's voice was so small, his question so innocent and heartrending.

Jolted out of his thoughts, Ludwig looked down to see him staring up at him searchingly with impossibly large green eyes, his face ashen beneath a grimy mask of dirt and dried tears. Bedraggled, frightened, worried, and confused, he looked like a like a neglected little lost lamb who had just found shelter from a thunderstorm in the den of a wolf.

"Arik!" Nessa admonished quickly, stepping in front of her brother. Fear glistened wetly in her eyes as she also met Ludwig's gaze. "P-"

Ludwig cut her off abruptly. "Nein." Though his overall expression was stern and serious, subtle little hints of compassion nonetheless flickered about his features, accumulating around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "Not if you do exactly as I say."

_Spoken like a true asshole. _

He was only pretending, but his own words disgusted him, made him flinch inside.

The conditional nature of the stark statement drained what little color the children had left in their faces. Arik shrank behind his sister. Nessa swallowed nervously and looked down at the floor.

"You want us to tell you about our parents, don't you?" she half-whispered, her voice despairing and utterly lost.

It was heartbreaking — she'd already lost contact with her parents, and now she was afraid of losing them permanently before she ever got a chance to see them again.

Sadder still, she never _would_ see them again.

A dirty dagger of guilt slashed Ludwig's heart; even though he personally had not been responsible for their deaths, he still felt the blood of Arik and Nessa's parents warm and staining on his hands. He was a Nazi despite his aversion to genocide, a willing slave of the Führer. Sure, he wasn't out there helping his compatriots slaughter Jews, but by fighting on the frontlines he was simultaneously protecting their ability to do it and acquiring new areas _in which _they could do it.

"Nein. Not yet." He'd eventually have to break the news to them, but it was better to wait until after they were cleaned, clothed in fresh garments, and fed. It'd make things so much easier. "The first thing I want you both do to is take a bath."

Arik's whole face lit up. "A bath?" he trilled, "With warm water, and…and _soap_?

Ludwig nodded. "Of course. It'd be hard to wash you up otherwise."

Beaming, Arik turned to Nessa. "Hear that, Sis? We get to take a _bath_!"

Nessa smiled at him frailly before turning back to Ludwig, bowing her head and keeping her body-language deferential. "We're ready when you are, Herr Herrmann."


	11. Bath Time

**A/N: **_I know that, speaking in German, Arik wouldn't sound exactly as I portray him, but since this story is in English I decided to use a very common English pattern of child speech to make him sound more his age. Pretend he's doing the equivalent in German. ^^_

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

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><p>Neither child liked the idea of Ludwig bathing them. Both insisted that they were quite capable of doing it themselves, that they used to take baths alone all the time before being locked away in the ghetto and had gotten clean as a whistle. <em>Cleaner<em> than a whistle, even. And they'd always left the bathroom spic-and-span when they were done, and there was no reason at all for any adult supervision because they could manage just fine.

Ludwig hadn't bought it. Children were just that, and children had a tendency to not take things seriously enough, to not pay close enough attention to what they were doing, to not care about hygiene, and to miss spots when cleaning. He rarely spent much time around them, but what little he had seen had made his stomach churn with nausea. Especially the hands: he had yet to meet a child with truly clean, sanitary hands. They were always covered in some kind of dirt, or food, or some unknown sticky substance, or worse. And the fingernails…god, the _fingernails_…just thinking about it made him cringe. Tiny, crusty bits of literally everything and anything could be found hiding beneath a child's fingernails. And it was these hands — these sticky, grimy, filthy little hands that served as host to a ton of viruses and bacteria — that plunged fingers-first into freshly-baked pies, cakes, bread….

No.

Just…no.

Arik and Nessa were fresh from a filthy, disease-ridden ghetto — no way he was going to leave such an important task in their hands, no matter how capable they claimed to be. Far healthier for all three of them for him to make _sure_ the job was done right.

His insistence on taking them back one at a time and washing them up himself, however, had launched both of them into a small panic. Neither wanted to be separated from the other, even for a few minutes. They were far too afraid of him to get defiant, but their pleas rent at his heart, caused him to cave in from the inside out. Now they sat in front of him in the tub, undressed, fresh, warm water rising up around their bodies.

Giving the brother-sister pair a curt command to stay put, Ludwig left them alone for a few seconds to get a washcloth and a cup. He returned to find them soaking comfortably in the water, more at ease than he had ever seen them before. Neither was smiling but their eyes gave them away — there was glimmer of hope in them which hadn't been present before.

Glad that they had calmed down a little, and that the warm water was having a soothing effect on them as well as a hygienic one, Ludwig knelt by the edge of the tub and filled the cup with running water.

Arik watched him curiously. "Whatcha gonna do with that?"

"Wash your hair." Ludwig replied coolly, moving the full cup over the boy's head and pouring its contents. Grabbing the bottle of shampoo sitting beside him, he dumped a generous amount into the wet, tangled dark-brown mop in front of him and began gently massaging the milky cleansing liquid into Arik's scalp with his fingertips, doing his best not to think about just what the hell was in this kid's hair to make it both sticky and greasy to the touch.

For a five-year-old, Arik was amazingly quiet and still. He barely moved at all.

The tub was full enough now. Setting the cup on the floor, Ludwig wetted the washcloth under the faucet before turning the water off. Utter silence fell over the room as he smeared the washcloth with bar soap and worked up a lather.

Odd.

Normally Ludwig didn't mind silence — it was better than constant annoying, pointless chatter by far — but something about this silence didn't feel quite right. Arik and Nessa were both watching him closely, tiny flames of hope still leaping in their eyes, neither saying a word nor twitching a muscle.

Children shouldn't be so quiet and listless. It was unnatural.

But then, he reminded himself, these weren't ordinary children. These children had been separated from their parents and family, starved, beaten, and denied access to comfortable shelter and sanitation these past couple of weeks, during which time they had also witnessed cruelty, suffering, and death on a grand scale. They were worried about their parents and worried about the intentions of the big, frightening SS Nazi that had had taken them away from the train station to question them about said parents. It was good that they were feeling a little more hopeful, but he couldn't really blame them if they still didn't feel comfortable enough to move around or speak much in his presence. After all, he wasn't exactly sending off a comforting vibe, and their experience in the ghetto had probably destroyed most of their optimism along with their trust and faith in humankind as a whole.

He moved the soapy washcloth in for Arik's face. "Close your eyes."

Arik squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his whole face scrunching with the effort.

_Okay, that's a bit overkill kid, but I'll work with it._ Ludwig rubbed him down thoroughly, being as gentle as he could in wiping every trace of dirt and grime off almond-tinted skin. The boy winced when he tilted his chin up, but otherwise remained still and compliant.

He was done washing and in the process of running fresh water into his cup when Arik asked "Can I open my eyes yet, Herr Herrmann?"

"Not unless you want soap in them," Ludwig said matter-of-factly, "I haven't rinsed you yet." The cup filled, and he splashed Arik in the face. He repeated the action once more before switching to the boy's hair, pale fingers running through dark locks as he rinsed to help move all the shampoo and nastiness out.

Wow. With his hair and face cleaned up, Arik looked almost like another child.

Setting the cup down next to him on the floor, Ludwig re-lathered the washcloth with fresh soap and began scrubbing the rest of the child's body, working his way down with the same care and attention he'd used for his face. Several times the boy flinched and tensed up when his hands were being washed — particularly around the fingernails — and Ludwig caught him stealing a few anxious, furtive glances to his sister, who watched the proceedings quietly and uncertainly from the back of the tub.

_Mein Gott. _

Ludwig hadn't been the least surprised to see a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises decorating his new charges' scrawny bodies when they'd undressed, but with the filth gone the injuries were revealed to be worse than he had initially thought. Cuts lengthened and went deeper, bruises grew in size, intensity, and number. A couple of Arik's fingers bled at the tips where he had just scrubbed them, and he realized with a jolt that some of the dirt-encrusted mess he'd cleaned off of them had in fact been _scabs_. The real show-stealer, however, was the angry red-violet bruise that swelled over the boy's lean stomach, encompassing it almost entirely.

The stony mask of indifference he wore faltered slightly, his resolve to appear as cold and indifferent as possible at odds with his true feelings. He set the washcloth aside and began brushing his fingers lightly over the boy's ribs.

Arik looked to him curiously. "Whatcha doin' that for?"

"I'm checking for broken ribs." the nation explained tersely, frowning a little as he pressed his fingers a tad more firmly into a spot that had felt suspicious on the first pass.

To his relief, the bone was intact.

"And what if you find one?" Nessa's question was tinged with a slight note of hysteria.

Ludwig hadn't planned on answering her, which was just as well because something happened right then that would have clipped his reply short anyway; Arik jerked back violently with a shrill shriek, his right arm flying up as gracelessly as the arm of a puppet whose string had been yanked. The resulting explosion of water got the Nazi in the face, which wouldn't have been so bad if his reflexes had kicked in in enough time to spare his eyes.

"It hurts! It _hurts_!" Arik gasped.

Ludwig drew back with a slight hiss and rubbed at his stinging eyes, silently agreeing. Not that a little soap in the eyes hurt all that much — on a scale of one to ten it didn't even register compared to the hellfire agony he'd been forced to suffer through far too many times already in the form of gory mortal wounds and crushed bones — and he was embarrassed to have shown any reaction at all in front of impressionable young minds, but damn, he couldn't _help_ it. Stupid knee-jerk reaction.

Eager to soothe his discomfort in the nearby sink and get back to assessing the severity of Arik's injury as quickly and with as much dignity as possible, he started to stand up…

…and the whole bathroom erupted with the sounds of frenzied splashing and two desperate, panic-stricken voices pleading simultaneously.

"Please! _Plea-"_

"I'msorryI'ms-"

"_-se_ don't punish-"

"orryI'msorry!"

"my little brother!"

"I didn't mean t' splash you, Herr Herrmann! Really!"

"_Will you calm down?!_" Ludwig snapped, and this time he didn't need to make a conscious effort to keep up his heartless Nazi charade, it happened all on its own. "No one is getting punished!" Squinting through freshly-reddened, watery eyes, he reached the sink in two steps and hastily turned both handles over. "Now, quiet while I rinse my eyes."

The splashing and pleading stopped immediately. Ludwig lost no time in cupping his hands under the faucet and dousing his burning eyes.

Cool, wet relief. Well, not as cool as he'd like: the water started heating up on him, and he growled a little curse when turning one handle all the way back resulted in even _hotter_ water. But the situation was easy enough to fix, and after a few moments he was drowning his eyes in nice, pain-alleviating bliss again. When he had finished he grabbed a hand towel from the linen rack conveniently located on the nearby wall and dried his face.

_There. Now that __**that's**__ over with…_

Towel in hand, he turned to see Arik and Nessa sitting stock-still in the tub, gazing up at him with a mix of fear and quiet fascination.

Good. Whatever faults they may have, at least they were obedient. He started toward them; their eyes widened at his approach.

"Are you alright, Herr Herrmann?" Nessa asked with cautious optimism.

"Ja." Ludwig kneeled down once more at the edge of the tub and tossed the hand towel he hadn't meant to carry with him back into the sink. "It's Arik you should be worried about."

Arik's eyes went even wider; the color quickly started draining from his cheeks. "Why? What's gonna happen to me?"

_Nothing, I hope._Ludwig wanted to say. The words were on the tip of his tongue when he caught himself and changed his answer to something a little more ominous. "It's hard to say." Though he was frowning, there wasn't a hint of malice or anger to be found anywhere on his countenance, and far less sternness than usual. Slowly, he moved his right hand towards Arik's. "Can you show me where it hurts? Touch my fingers to the place. Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, I just need to know whether your rib is cracked or broken." He extended two fingers, tucked the rest under his thumb.

Arik studied his hand uncertainly for a moment, then took his fingers and touched them lightly on the bottom right side of his ribcage.

Ludwig pushed into the area with his fingertips and began feeling around, applying as little pressure as possible.

Arik winced and inhaled sharply. It was clear that he was trying to be brave, trying to hold back the hurt and put a bold face on it, and in Ludwig's opinion he did very well for a scared five-year-old: probably as well as he himself had done at that age. Not that he had actually been five years old when he had looked and acted it — countries aged rather bizarrely, all at a different rate from humans and usually even each other — or even remembered many details from his time as the North German Confederation, but he did recall being in some rough battles pretty early on, back when he was still a tiny, vulnerable little boy/nation whose very survival depended on big brother Prussia.

Just as the Goldberger children's survival now depended on him.

"I don't feel a break," he announced after a few seconds, drawing his hand back, "Have you been having any trouble breathing?"

Arik looked up into his eyes and blinked. "Nein. But what's that got to do with my ribs?"

"Everything. It tells me your rib's not broken, and if it's cracked the fracture isn't serious. You're very lucky."

Arik's face misted over with tentative confusion. He shifted his gaze away from the nation spirit to a patch of water off to his left. "What woulda happened if it _was_ serious?"

_So curious…_

Ludwig knew what he was fishing for — he was trying to feel him out, get a sense of how much danger he was in. It was a smart move, smarter than he would have guessed a child this young capable of.

Then again, being surrounded by violence and death and constantly having to fear for your life did have a way of sharpening the senses.

He waved the question aside. "Nevermind." His expression hardened, his glacier-blue eyes regaining their austere hawk-like quality. "Now, I don't want to hear any more questions from either of you until you're both clean and dry, understand?"

The children nodded vigorously.

Ludwig picked up where he left off, taking great care to scrub every last particle of dirt and grime away from his charges' bodies until they were military-clean.

xoxoxoxoxox

When Arik and Nessa were out of the tub Ludwig noticed a problem immediately, one which, by all rights, he _should_ have possessed the foresight to see before he'd given them a bath, and he silently cursed whatever brain-freeze had blocked the obvious from him until this very moment.

Now that they were all nice and clean, what were the children to wear? He couldn't put them back in the disgustingly filthy rags he'd found them in, that was out of the question. He hadn't brought any extra clothes with him, not that it would have mattered anyway since even his tightest-fitting garments would fit them like a tent.

Clearly there was only one solution.

He'd planned on doing some shopping after bath time was over anyway; the only difference this made was that now he had even more reason to hurry. As soon as they had the hotel's big, fluffy white towels wrapped around them, Ludwig herded Arik and Nessa out of the bathroom and towards the child's bed. "On the bed."

As usual, the command was curt and much more forceful than it needed to be.

The Goldbergers were quick to obey. Snuggling deep into the warm folds of their towels, they scooted into each other as though their very lives depended on it, drawing their legs up underneath them to conserve on heat. Now on the edge of the bed, they watched their guardian closely and curiously, waiting for him to speak.

Ludwig halted directly in front of them. "I want you both to listen to me very carefully. I have to leave now to get you some clothes and food. I shouldn't be away more than an hour at most. Lock the door when I leave, and whatever you do do NOT open it for ANY reason, am I clear?" To make certain, _dead_ certain, that he was, he reiterated this point in an even _sterner_ tone, his gaze bearing down on the children like a freight train. "_**ANY**_ reason. If you hear someone coming, don't move, don't speak, don't make any noise at all. If they knock, pretend you're not here. I don't care who it is or what they say. I'm a Generaloberst _and_ an SS Obergruppenführer, so no one should be coming to this room anyway, but just in case, BE QUIET."

"Jawhol, Herr Hermann!" Nessa at once straightened her small body into an extremely deferential posture. "We'll do exactly as you said! Promise!"

"Double-promise!" Arik agreed energetically, then added "And…and did you say _food_?!" His eyes sparked with excitement, and now he couldn't help himself. "Oh! Oh please, if it's not too much trouble, cannya get some _chocolate_? I haven't had it for so long!"

Ludwig blinked, mild surprise sweeping his features at the child's sudden enthusiasm and boldness. "Well…ehm…" He fumbled with his own words, a big, fat blanket of awkwardness falling over him. "…I _suppose_….if you're good." His eyes shifted to the sister half of the duo. "Same for you."

_Might as well give them __**something**__ to look forward to._

If fear of his more ruthless comrades wasn't enough to keep Arik and Nessa safe and quiet in this room, the promise of sweeties would be for sure. One of the few things he knew for certain about children was that their love for chocolates and candies was universal, spanning all cultures, races, religions, and nationalities. Here they had common ground — he was rather fond of chocolate himself, especially in the form of cakes and brownies, which he often baked at home when he had the time. If only this room had come equipped with a stove and kitchen sink, he could have whipped up a big chocolate cake for himself and the children.

The Goldberger siblings exchanged looks of happy surprise, beaming with quiet excitement.

His own expression neutral, Ludwig turned and went for his trenchcoat and hat hanging the pegs near the door. Utter silence reigned as he put them on, did up all the buttons on the coat, and walked over to the nightstand next to his bed to retrieve his firearms. Once the weapons were secured in their proper places on his person and he was all set to go back on out into bitter cold, he picked up the trash bag containing all the children's dirty clothes and went straight for the door.


	12. The Spirit of Giving

**Chapter 12**

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><p>Shopping for children turned out to be more fun than Germany had expected. With the holidays right around the corner several stores were decked out with Christmas trees; shiny red, green, gold, and silver foil streamers; bright candles; glowing angels; jolly St. Nicholases; and heartwarming dioramas featuring smiling children who were more often than not playing out in a snowy yard or clearing with wild animals rendered tame and gentle as kittens by the spirit of the season. Christmas music and programs floated out of radios. Eye-catching advertisements for toys, clothes, and baked goods vied for consumers' attention. The atmosphere in Vilnius was a little more relaxed and cheerful than it had been in Ponary, though there was still an all-pervading tension in the air that kept the locals suspiciously well-behaved and constantly looking over their shoulders.<p>

Ludwig hadn't been feeling particularly festive prior to finding Rivka trapped and dying under a ton of rubble in the cold, dark, underground labyrinth beneath Ponary, and after he'd learned the grisly, terrible truth about what was _really_ happening to the Jews behind closed doors and out of the public eye — _and witnessed the depths of their suffering firsthand _— after he'd been crushed under the mountain of guilt that had come from knowing that his _own people _were responsible, that he'd in fact been helping them cruelly torture and slaughter innocent civilians of all ages by the thousands — possibly millions — without realizing it, he'd been certain he'd been rendered incapable of feeling even the tiniest, faintest touch of joy or Christmas spirit. But traveling swiftly from store to store, looking through their inventories and selecting the items he thought the children would most enjoy, he was happy to find that that he'd been wrong. Every time he looked at an article of clothing, a container of food, or a colorful toy and thought about how much comfort and joy it would bring to Arik and Nessa, how completely, utterly _surprised_ and _excited _they would be to receive it, he couldn't help but to feel a wonderful rush of warmth and pride.

Doing good _felt_ good.

He couldn't bring the children's parents back, couldn't undo the horrors that had befallen them in the ghetto, couldn't make up for the heinous actions of his SS. Maybe he wouldn't even be able to convince his boss to change his policies and stop the worst of the atrocities before all of their remaining European family and friends were destroyed.

But he could make their lives better now, buy them everything they needed, give them the best chance possible to start anew in another country, one in no immediate danger of flying his flag.

Prove that not _**all**_ Germans serving in the armed forces were callous bastards.

Happily, though Hitler took advantage of Ludwig's nationhood in many other ways, he did at least pay him the salary befitting his rank, and between constantly being on the warfronts and having no family of his own to support it had been a while since he'd needed to spend much. He got each child four sets of clothing complete with extremely warm coats, mittens, boots, scarves, and snowcaps. Since they were currently staying in a motel which did not include a kitchen and would be doing a lot of traveling very soon, he made sure to only get ready-to-eat food items that did not require cooking and pre-made meals, as many as he and the children could reasonably transport. Also a few bottles of water in case they got thirsty in a place where clean, drinkable water was not readily accessible.

But food, water, and season-appropriate clothes were only the bare minimum for survival; if they were to stay clean, comfortable, and healthy during their likely multi-day voyage to a safe haven the children would require personal hygiene products as well. To satisfy this need, Ludwig bought them toothbrushes, toothpaste, a hairbrush, and a few small packages of soap.

Then there were the toys.

Alright, so toys weren't essential to health or survival, but he just couldn't resist the urge to get them a few: small things that would be easy to carry.

He ended his shopping spree with a large, durable suitcase in which to store everything and a cheap black night shirt and boxers for himself; he hated sleeping in his stiff, rough uniform and avoided it as much as possible.

To his relief his purchases didn't raise any eyebrows — everyone merely assumed he was buying Christmas presents for family back home. One particularly friendly young woman working the cash register at the shop where he had bought the clothes had started telling him all about how she wished _her _husband — a member of the local militia — had been thoughtful enough to go out and buy new clothes for their little boy, and how lucky Ludwig's wife was to have, in her own words, such a good, caring, considerate, high-ranking, and devilishly handsome Aryan husband. While Ludwig had immensely enjoyed all the glowing compliments and flattery, it had nonetheless been an awkward couple of minutes, and, slightly blushing, he'd ended up correcting her assumption that he was married and claiming the Goldbergers were the children of a non-existent sister, which had turned out to be a bad idea because it had excited the cashier to the point of outrageous flirting: she'd even offered to show him a good time after her shift ended in a few hours. Had she been a lot more pleasing to the eye, and had he not had children to protect and care for, Ludwig would have taken her up on the offer — it had been far too long since he'd had the opportunity to unwind and enjoy certain pleasures of life — but such was not the case. He'd declined on the grounds that he had merely been stopping by Vilnius briefly on his way back to Berlin where he was urgently needed for a conference with the high command, and that he had to leave immediately after posting his presents if he were to get there on time.

And that had been the end of that.

On the way back to the hotel he'd kept a wary eye out for spies, particularly Hauptmann and other Gestapo and members of the Einsatzgruppe, but happily they were nowhere to be found. The Germans he did encounter were all extremely polite and respectful, and if they suspected him of being up to anything suspicious or illegal they made no show of it. Quite the contrary, most seemed awed and honored to be in his presence.

He made it back to Room 12 just a few minutes past the hour he'd promised. _Damn. _Ludwig mentally kicked himself for his tardiness; punctuality was _very_ important in duty and in life. Why, he'd disciplined soldiers for being far less late than he currently was to an appointment! _What an example to set for the kids. The fearsome icon of military precision, late. Embarrassing. _

Froma distant corner of his mind came Italy's cheerful reply of _Better late than never! _

The ghost of a tiny smile almost-but-not-quite making it to his lips, Ludwig shut his eyes for a moment and shook his head slightly in restrained amusement; it was exactly what his friend and fellow Axis would say if he were here and able to read his thoughts. And he would be right. As bad as it was to be late, never showing up at all was, in most cases, far worse. At least he was here now, and he wasn't all _that_ late.

_Italy, if only you could be here now…_

Actually, no.

That was a terrible idea.

While playful, spirited, eternally-optimistic and kind-hearted Feliciano was sure to be a big hit with Arik and Nessa, his carelessness and naïve, trusting nature would quickly make them all the center of a likely covert full-scale Gestapo investigation.

Shaking thoughts of his absent friend aside — against his will Italy was off running errands for Mussolini right now and probably would not be free to do anything else for another two weeks at least — Ludwig set the big black-and-brown suitcase down on the hallway floor and fished the key to Room 12 out of his trenchcoat. The door came open with a quiet 'click'.

Silence.

Dead silence.

The room was as still as a photograph and had the look of barely being used.

Arik and Nessa were nowhere in sight.

A small swell of pride went through Ludwig: they'd done exactly as he had instructed like the good little children they were. Barely making a sound himself, he brought the suitcase in and shut and locked the door.

He froze for a moment near the threshold, listening, and when he didn't hear footsteps in the hall he turned back around and called out calmly to the orphans in his normal volume of voice. "Nessa. Arik. It's alright — it's me. I have food and clothes for you. Get dressed and you can eat."

He'd said the magic words. All at once there was a rustling under the master bed and Nessa crawled out hurriedly, Arik close at her side. They were both still wrapped snugly in the white towels they'd dried off in after their bath, their skin smooth and clean, their hair dry and messy. Burning with excitement, they dashed to the suitcase as Ludwig opened it, one to either side of him, temporarily forgetting their fear as they crowded in to get a better look at the contents.

Taking care only to open the section which contained clothes, Ludwig rounded up a full outfit for Nessa, handing each item to her as he found it and noting with deep satisfaction the way her mouth fell open and her eyes widened with shock.

"Oh my…! These are _new_!" She stared at the neatly-folded red blouse that had just been set atop the other garments in her waiting arms as though she couldn't believe it was really there. "And those coats —" her voice climbed higher and higher "are those for us _too_?!"

Ludwig nodded, a thin smile at last crossing his face. "Ja. Almost everything in this suitcase is for you." His naturally-harsh tone had softened slightly without his even realizing it. His eyes, too, had changed: normally fierce and unyielding as a bird of prey's, the tenderness which now flowed through them made them warmer, gentler.

If Nessa was happy _now_, just wait until she saw the rest of what he'd bought!

And Nessa certainly _was_ happy, there was no mistake about that. For the first time since Ludwig had found her she was actually smiling. "Wow! Oh thank you, _thank you!_ These must have cost a fortune!"

Still smiling, Ludwig turned his head to the side, as though doing so could somehow disguise the faint blush he felt heating the bottom of his cheeks. "I'm glad you like them."

"Didja get _chocolate_ too?!" Arik burst out excitedly.

Ludwig turned to see the youngest Goldberger staring up at him like an eager puppy, green eyes wide and daring to hope. He could almost hear him saying '_Pleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyes!_' in that wonderfully innocent and spirited child's voice, the voice he himself had once possessed over seventy years ago before war, adulthood, and, yes, even _Prussia,_ had corrupted him.

It was so, well, _cute_.

"Why don't you get dressed and find out?" There was a teasing hint of promise to his voice; Arik would see soon enough. They both would. He reached into the suitcase and withdrew a dark green boy's shirt roughly Arik's size. _Roughly _because it was plainly a bit too big for him — Ludwig had never bought children's clothes before and had gone into the store with only a memory-drawn approximation of each Goldberger's size to guide him — but it was close enough to work, and anyway he'd grow into it.

He held it out to Arik, who happily snatched it and began putting it on at once. "Wow! It's all clean and, and _new_!"

"Of course," Ludwig said with a measure of pride, grabbing up some underwear and pants to go with it, "What, did you think I would go back into that filthy ghetto and grab some clothes off a corpse? If I was going to do that I wouldn't have bothered giving you a bath or throwing your old clothes away."

Arik paled. "_What_? You threw our old clothes away?!" He sounded horrified.

"I had to. They were disgusting. And old and ripped besides."

"But…but _Momma_ gave me that coat! It was a p-present!"

"I am sure she would understand." When Arik didn't reach out for the rest of his outfit Ludwig gently tossed it into him.

Rather than try to catch them, Arik let the clothes hit his chest and fall to the floor. Clearly he was still having trouble adjusting to the idea of never seeing his old coat again, a coat to which he had attached great sentimental value. Perhaps it had given him an inner strength all those cold, starving, frightening nights in the ghetto, had made him feel closer to his mother.

Germany could sympathize with him; he would have been gutted to have been separated from Prussia for even a couple of days at such a young age — especially under such horrific conditions — would have held on fiercely to anything the red-eyed nation spirit had given him. But the situation in this case couldn't be helped.

His tone hardened. "Get. Dressed."

Arik didn't wait to be told twice. His face wholly transformed by fear, he dropped onto his butt and rushed to obey. His unofficial guardian tossed a pair of socks and boots to him.

As the children dressed, Ludwig took the suitcase to the table and began constructing two meals side by side. In the days ahead these kids would be restricted to prepackaged foods that did not easily spoil — along with anything else they could glean — but tonight the fare was fresh and fully-garnished turkey sandwiches, fruit, and crackers. For drinks, two bottles of cold milk. Nothing fancy, but after somewhere near two weeks of going hungry in the ghetto it would probably seem like a feast fit for royalty to Arik and Nessa, especially with the delicious dessert they were going to get.

"Herr Herrmann?" The small, inquiring voice belonged to Nessa, who was now entirely clothed with the exception of boots. Her coppery light-brown hair fell wild and messy around her face, which was misted over with confusion.

Ludwig gave her his full attention.

"These clothes are really, _really_ great, and I do so love them, but…" Her voice grew shakier. "but what about the yellow star?"

Right.

That stupid star patch that made it so easy for the cruelly-inclined to find their victims. It was illegal for any Jew in German-controlled territory to be without one, a fact which everyone, even children —and _especially_ Jewish children — knew well.

Ludwig's gaze fell back to the table, where the children's meals were all neatly-arranged and ready for them. "You're not to wear the yellow star anymore." he said with calm finality.

When neither child offered any further questions or observations, he turned away from the table and headed for the coat-rack. He'd been in such a hurry to get the children dressed and started on their meal that he hadn't had the chance to take off his coat and hat yet, and now he was feeling a bit too warm.


	13. Ill Tidings

**Chapter 13**

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><p>Arik and Nessa were in Heaven. Half an hour later found them finished with their meal and happily munching chocolate bars as they played with their new toys on the floor in front of the master bed.<p>

Just as Ludwig had predicted, they'd been utterly shocked and amazed by the sheer _amount_ and _variety_ of chocolate, candy, and other food he'd procured for them, and naturally they hadn't been expecting presents _at all_. When he'd at once dumped all the candy, toys, and the rest of their clothes out on the master bed and declared it all theirs they'd gone crazy with elation, thanking him over and over and _over_ again in rapid-fire succession, their faces split wide with grins, their eyes overflowing with astonished, unbridled glee.

And at that moment it was as if all the spirit, joy, and love of Christmas had shot through Ludwig's soul like a million volts of electricity that had felt indescribably wonderful, an emotion so rare and powerful that for moments, just moments, the blinding blaze of it had totally eclipsed all the darkness and negativity dwelling within him, and for the first time in years he had felt so _warm_.

Naturally it couldn't last, and in this case the near-euphoria had been no longer-lived than the lightning bolt it had imitated. But some of the warmth lingered, and even knowing all he knew and not looking forward to the tasks ahead, Ludwig remained in good spirits.

Kindness truly was its own reward.

And there was something about being needed that was like tonic to the soul.

They weren't out of the woods just yet, but everyone was safe and comfortable. For now, that was enough.

Having played the role of St. Nicholas, Ludwig had returned to the table, where, after disposing of all the garbage and wiping the table-top sparkling clean with a washcloth dipped in cleaner, he'd grabbed his weapons-maintenance kit, taken a seat, and gotten to work clearing and dismantling his submachine gun.

He'd barely finished taking the firearm apart and had just grabbed a cleaning rod and bore brush when Arik approached.

"Whatcha doin'?"

Ludwig glanced up.

Arik had a lifelike toy tank in one hand and a half-eaten chocolate bar in the other. Looking far more at ease than he had all night, he climbed up into the chair across from his guardian and studied the carefully-arranged sea of gun parts laid out between them.

"Cleaning my weapon," Ludwig answered, hastily adding "_Don't touch!_", for Arik had set his tank down and started to reach for the magazine.

Arik drew his hand back immediately, eyeing the magazine as though it had just transformed into a red-hot coal. "Why?"

"Because I don't want anything lost or covered in chocolate." _Which should be obvious… _

"No, I mean, why are you cleaning it for?"

Eyes returning to the task at hand, Ludwig picked up the gray barrel, poked the bore brush into it, and began carefully sweeping his way down the length. It was extremely unlikely that the curious boy sharing the table with him would try to touch another part, but he kept vigilance in his peripheral just in case. "Because I don't want to have to be _cleaning_ it at precisely the time I should be _using_ it."

"Guns get dirty?" It was a revelation for Arik.

"Ja. And they need to be lubricated, too, otherwise they jam up and don't fire. And you do _not_ want to be facing down the enemy with a nonfunctional weapon." He spoke from experience; firearms were marvelous things, but some of them — especially certain models — jammed way, _way_ too readily, turning them into wood-and-metal clubs at crucial life-or-death moments. More than once he'd wound up taking a sudden unexpected trip to the boss because of it.

Satisfied that the residue inside the barrel had been sufficiently loosened, he removed the bore brush and took a small white cloth from his kit. This he dampened with lubricant before wrapping it around the brush and pushing it back into the barrel. The whole while he was doing this he was aware of Nessa approaching, her steps light as a cat's on the carpet and tile.

"How many people have you killed?"

Ludwig froze. Right from the start Arik had been too curious for his own good, and he _had_ witnessed many more violent deaths than the average 5-year-old, but somehow the question of how many people he'd offed had been the last in the world he had expected the child to ask him.

An uncomfortable awkwardness descended upon him as he lifted his gaze from his weapon and fixed the younger male with culpable blue eyes. "Trust me, you don't want to know." Though his confession was soft, it was completely lacking in remorse and regret. Unlike the Einsatzgruppen, he could honestly say that most of the people he had slain had had it coming: by far the vast majority had been armed and dangerous enemy soldiers and insurgents. Some had even been other nation spirits, whose "deaths" had been only temporary. In all the years he'd been alive he'd killed probably less than fifty innocent bystanders that he knew of, all purely by accident.

He thoroughly expected his unnerving response to cause both children to pale and nervously go back to playing with their toys — perhaps after seeking some reassurance that they were still on his good side — but to his surprise Nessa remained still and silent at the edge of the table midway between himself and Arik, and Arik seemed more confused than scared.

"But…but I don't understand." Arik said, frowning, "You saved me from the man who was hurting me, then when I splashed your eyes with soap an' water you didn't hit me for it. You talk mean an' sometimes you're really scary, but you never hurt me and Nessa. And a little bit ago you gave us so much food — an' _good_ food too! — an' chocolate, an' all these wonderful presents, and, well….you can't be _that_ bad…it's…it's…"

Ludwig set the barrel down on the table with the clothed bore brush still inside, distracted past the point of being able to concentrate on it. Patiently, he waited for the child to continue, some of the warm feeling from earlier returning and bringing along another swell of embarrassed pride.

"…weird. You're a _Nazi_, why are you being so nice to us?"

"It's because he wants us to tell him as much as we can about our parents and family so he and the other Nazis can get them next," Nessa interjected suddenly, her voice small, sad, and full of worry, "Remember what he said to Hauptmann? He wants to make us feel safe and happy so we'll tell him more." She'd evidently just worked it out, because she'd been happy enough before her brother had brought the subject up. Now her eyes met Ludwig's, and there was hurt in them, as though he'd broken a promise.

"Clever girl," Ludwig said in a way which was both praising and ominous at the same time. He averted his eyes to the tabletop, took in the Maschinenpistole parts without really taking them in. "But you're wrong. I only told Hauptmann that so he would leave us alone. I'm not after your parents. I'm not _that_ kind of Nazi." He shot Nessa a warning look. "Though you really shouldn't have said that, Nessa, because I _could _have been, and then I might have decided that it would be better to _beat _the information I wanted out of you." He held up a pointer-finger before continuing on in the same firm, lecturing tone. "Rule Number One of survival in a captive situation: never let the enemy know you've figured out his plan. Once he knows that he'll change it, usually for the worse."

Nessa swallowed nervously.. "Jawohl. Sorry." She looked down at her feet.

"Don't be sorry, be careful! Tipping off your enemy is a bad idea. I'm _not_ your enemy, as it turns out, but you thought I was when you ran off your mouth. It could have easily gotten you and your brother killed."

"But if you're not our enemy, and you're not after our parents or the other Jews, then…then what do you want with us?" Nessa looked up and regarded her rescuer with an odd mix of relief and suspicion.

Ludwig sighed. _Here it comes. How am I going to break this to them? _

Ultimately, he supposed, it didn't matter. They were going to react the same way no matter how delicately he tried to dress it.

_Might as well get it over with. _Swallowing back his discomfort, he began. "Nessa, Arik, there's something I have to tell you. I…I know your mother."

_I know your mother?! What the hell?! __**That's**__ really breaking it to them! _He could have slapped himself; only two sentences in and _already_ he'd messed it up. He opened his mouth to fix it, but it was too late.

"You do?! How?! Is she alright?" Nessa couldn't have been more excited, though it was clear from the look on her face and the worry in her voice that she was afraid to get her hopes up too high just yet.

Arik, on the other hand, looked as though St. Nicholas himself had just shown up and offered to take him to see his mother in his flying sleigh. He was positively beaming from head to toe, his green eyes sparkling with an excitement far more innocent than Nessa's. "Where is she? And is papa with her?"

_Yes, your father's with her alright. _Ludwig frowned. "I came into Rivka's — I mean, _your mother's _— store a lot when I lived in Berlin. Well, I _still_ live there, but that's besides the point. Anyway she was always decent to me. No, not decent, _nice_. She and I, we…we were friends. Not _close_ friends, but I liked her, and she liked me. But that was a few years ago, before I went off to fight in this war."

He had the children by the ear. They watched him with mounting anticipation, hanging on to his every word.

His voice took on more of a somber quality as he continued. "I ran into your mother very early this morning, a couple of hours before I found you. I'd been investigating an unexplained explosion in the tunnels beneath Ponary when I found her pinned under a cave-in, alive, but badly wounded. She…she told me what had happened to her and your father. They were captured and taken to Ponary for execution. They tried to escape when they arrived, but they were gunned down and…" _Here we go. _"your father was killed."

All the color drained from Nessa's face.

Arik's eyes filled with tears, the sparkle that had been in them only seconds before blown out like a candle. "Y-You saved Momma though, right?" His voice cracked as he spoke, "She's your friend….you saved her, right?"

"Somehow your mother managed to make it underground, as I said," Ludwig went on, his expression starkly serious, "She was trying to sneak over to Vilnius, to you two. But she was already weak and bleeding when the cave-in got her…by the time I arrived she was beyond all help. She told me where you were and made me promise to go rescue you, to keep you safe." He stared down at the gun barrel resting near his hands as though it had somehow become more interesting, no longer able to look either child in the eye. "Then she died."

Arik burst into full-blown grief, sobbing uncontrollably. Nessa was quick to follow, her weeping marginally quieter.

Germany's heart went out to them; he could well imagine how it must feel to lose parents, especially at the time when one needed them most. Countries were incapable of producing other countries via biology the way everything else in nature propagated its species, but they could propagate in other ways, and that was exactly what Prussia had done back in 1866 when he had won the Austro-Prussian war and spurred the official formation of the North German Confederation — Germany under his first name. Though it had been many years since Ludwig had thought of Gilbert as anything other than a big brother — and indeed Gilbert had _always_ seen him as a little brother figure — they both knew that, in truth, Gilbert was his father. Prussia even joked about it once in a great while when the mood struck him. It was the way of their kind — to be "born" alone in a place true to their essence without any biological parents or siblings, to have kinship titles bestowed upon them by the nation spirits most like them, the ones which more often than not ended up being responsible for their creation in some way and who also usually ended up being first to find them and the ones to raise them.

Though he'd never directly asked him, Ludwig imagined that Gilbert had chosen the role of older brother over father right from the start because it allowed him a greater sense of personal freedom, the luxury to be immature, and was a handier explanation to feed mortals as to why he had suddenly started actively raising a child, one that made him a little more attractive in the eyes of women. In spite of this, during the first few decades of his life especially Gilbert had been a father to Ludwig anyway, even while calling him "brother"; he'd mentored him, taught him to fight, saw to it that he got a good education, disciplined him, and viciously defended him from all who would harm him. It wasn't until Ludwig's apparent teenage years that their relationship had truly shifted to that of brothers; where Ludwig had physically aged and become more mature, Gilbert had remained frozen at the same apparent age of 24 that he had been stuck at for centuries and become less responsible and mature as his need to be so for Ludwig's sake diminished. If anything, these days, it was as if their roles had reversed: Germany often felt protective of Prussia, as if the much, much older nation were actually his reckless little brother. It was a strange feeling.

At any rate, father or brother it didn't matter — Gilbert Beilschmidt was family, and he had always been there when Ludwig had needed him most. It was impossible to imagine life without him and unbearable to envision him dying a permanent death, a bleak possibility which grew terrifyingly more real every year that Hitler weakened him through assimilation.

So yes, he could definitely empathize with little Arik and Nessa, and he wished he knew what to do right now to make their loss even fractionally more bearable. He'd never, ever been good at comfort — it just didn't come naturally for him. Brutal honesty, harsh voice tones, and the concealment of his softer side came naturally for him. These qualities were invaluable to a general but only made situations like these worse.

Still, he _had_ to do something, had to try. "Your mother loved you very much," he said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the crying, "She would have had to have to have risked so much just to see you before she died. And if there's a Heaven I'm sure she's there…"

Instead of comforting the Goldberger orphans his words seemed to have the opposite effect: their cries became louder and more anguished.

_Damn. Was it the "if there's a Heaven" part? _

Just what _did_ Jews believe, anyway? Something about Christ not being the messiah and forbidden meats? They prayed to the same god as Christians, that he was pretty sure of, and his Great War buddy Ber had definitely believed in an afterlife, but he knew very little else about the religion, which was unfortunate because such knowledge would help him tremendously here.

Jews seemed to have a lot of ceremonies with candles; they must find them comforting. Perhaps if he brought enough into the room and lit them they would have a soothing effect on Arik and Nessa? It was worth a shot. He remembered seeing several colorful candles in a store only a block away — if he hurried he could be there and back again in no more than fifteen minutes.

His Maschinenpistole all but forgotten, he rose from his seat and at last brought himself to look at the children.

They were on the master bed now — _his_ bed — soaking the top blanket as well as their new clothes with their tears. Nessa was embracing Arik, who had his face buried in her chest. Her eyes met Ludwig's, and there was so much pain there and in the rest of her face that he could not remain silent.

"For what it's worth, you still have me." he said softly, his face uncharacteristically gentle and full of concern, "And who better to protect you from Nazis than one of their own? I-I know it hurts a lot right now, so much that you think it will never get better. But it _will_." He went over and gave Nessa a few incredibly light, clumsy pats on the back. "It will, I _promise_." Two gloomy faces looked up at him through a veil of tears, and he forced a sad little smile. "I know something that will help," he said suddenly, as though it had only just occurred to him, "I'm going to get it now. I'll be back in around fifteen minutes. Same rules as before."

Nessa nodded and managed a weak "Yes, Herr Herrmann".

Ludwig spun and headed for his coat. "Don't touch anything on the table."


	14. Rest Amidst Questions

**Chapter 14**

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><p>This time Ludwig was able to meet his deadline. He returned to the motel room with a paper sack full of a dozen candles in half as many colors, mostly glittering reds and greens with some occassions, whites, silvers, and a single dark blue. The dark blue one was the most special of all: not only was it twice as large as all the other candles, but it was also the only one that came in a glass container, a glass container onto which a tender winter scene had been painted. A rosy-cheeked angel with glowing white wings and a dazzlingly beautiful golden halo was guiding two lost and very cold-looking children out of the snow to a fire she had just created under the shelter of a tree. The blue of the candle through the otherwise-clear glass made a perfect night sky, a night sky which served as backdrop to several little gently-falling snowflakes. It had been the last of its kind in stock, and had cost Ludwig almost four times as much as one of other kinds of candles, but the moment he'd lain eyes on it he'd known it would be perfect for the children. He himself liked the scene: the angel, the children, even the tree and the snow looked so <em>pure<em> and _innocent_. Definitely the type of environment in which one would expect miracles to happen, and as an added bonus whoever had painted it had real talent.

The Goldbergers watched in subdued sorrow as he placed and lit candles on the nightstand before proceeding into the bathroom, where he situated a candle at either end of the sink and two on the middle of the thick outer wall of the bath tub. Having run out of good places to put candles — his MP35 was still spread out over the table exactly as he had left it — he simply placed the remainder in a line along the wall on the linoleum floor, with one exception.

The dark blue candle remained in the sack; he was saving it for bedtime, when its effects would surely be stronger and more beneficial.

_There. That should be enough. I hope this works. _Now that all 11 candles were in position and burning, Ludwig threw the light-switch, plunging the windowless room into near-darkness. He started unbuttoning his trenchcoat as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting, all the while keeping a keen ear out for any sounds which would betray the success or failure of his candlelight therapy.

For a few seconds all he heard was the rustling of his own coat.

Then…

"Herr Herrmann?"

It was Nessa.

"Ja?"

"What are the candles for?" Her voice, still meek and despondent, was a little stronger and steadier than it had been before.

That was a good sign.

Ludwig hung his coat up before answering. "They're for you and Arik. I thought they might help with the loss." He turned to look at her just as she collapsed face-first into one of his pillows and broke into a fresh crying spell, the flickering orange-white light of the nightstand candles playing irreverently over her small, shaking form.

_Verdammt, what did I do wrong __**this**__ time?! _Frustration twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Why was it that everything he tried to console these two ended up having the opposite effect? He really was terrible at this whole comforting business, even worse than he had initially judged. _Children should come with instruction manuals, _he thought seriously, _it would make them so much easier to deal with. Everything's so counterintuitive with these two. _

At least his explanation hadn't started Arik up again. The boy sat upright behind his sister, quietly staring at the dancing flames with an oddly serene look on his tear-streaked face.

So.

The candles _had _worked after all: on _one_ of the Goldbergers, anyway. But why one and not the other?

Ludwig hung up his hat and crossed the short span of floor separating them, pausing at the edge of the bed near the nightstand. A defeated sigh rushed past his lips as his gaze shifted from Arik to Nessa. "I thought Jews liked candles." he said helplessly.

"We do," Arik was quick to confirm. Quite unexpectedly, he leaned over Nessa and gave her a monstrous hug that involved half his body. Still, his soulful eyes remained locked on Ludwig, and when he next spoke he sounded both impossibly older than he was and exactly his age at the same time. "We just really miss Mamma and Papa."

But of course. The grief was too fresh and overpowering. Soothing lighting, kind words and presents could only go so far in combating it. The candles hadn't upset Nessa, she'd just been hit with an untimely wave of emotion that had made it appear that way. Perhaps the sight of them had triggered fond memories of good times past, good times spent in the company of her family.

Ludwig looked away, feeling more out of his element than ever. "I know." It was all he could think of to say.

Not knowing what else to do, and indeed, sensing that there was nothing else he _could_ do, he turned and walked over to the line of candles sitting on the linoleum. Taking up two of them, he went back to the table to finish cleaning and reassembling his weapon. _They just need some time._

* * *

><p><em>O-o-O-o<em>

* * *

><p>The rest of the afternoon and evening passed rather quietly and unremarkably. The children barely spoke a word to their guardian or each other, and while they did cry on and off their sobs were not nearly as loud and energetic as they had been at first. Indeed, after the first hour or so they had both exhausted themselves to sleep, but their nap hadn't lasted long. Ludwig had been reading a book that he'd picked up last-minute on his candle excursion when Arik and had woken up and proceeded to wake his sister. Having no more tears left — at least for the time being— the children had enjoyed a somber snack before trying to distract themselves with a game of Hide-And-Seek. But there weren't many places to hide in the small room and they'd quickly turned to their toys, then word games.<p>

Finding the book he'd selected to be a disappointment ( the romantic parts were filled with more sap than a maple tree, the action sequences were cheesy and uninspired, the dialogue was cringe-worthy, and what plot was present appeared to have been taken straight from the _Odyssey _and mixed with the least original descriptions the author could find ), Ludwig had abandoned it in favor of some exercise, which had drawn admiration and curious questions about his strength and endurance from his young charges. Seeing as how they were still extremely ignorant and naïve about what should and shouldn't be possible, he hadn't seen the harm in being honest. After dinner he'd gone ahead and participated in a few games with them, and though they trusted him he'd given them a few more unintentional scares.

At last it was bedtime.

Ludwig changed into his new boxers and began folding his uniform neatly on the bed while Arik and Nessa brushed their teeth in the bathroom. It would be better, of course, if he had a good, solid coat-hanger or two to hang it on, but the room hadn't come equipped with any and he wasn't about to go out of his way for one now. Once both parts were taken care of he moved to his undershirt and socks, folding each with military precision, then to the children's cast-off attire.

He had already finished putting the stacks of folded clothing away ( Arik's and Nessa's on the kitchen chairs for easy access in the morning and his own in the small cupboard under the nightstand ) and was halfway through pulling the laces tight on his combat boots when he heard the soft footsteps of a child emerging from the bathroom.

"Herr Herrmann?"

"Ja?" Never taking his eyes from his task, Ludwig gave the laces on his right boot a hearty upward yank and tucked the excess inside.

"Do we have any night-clothes?"

The question took him by surprise. Eyebrows rising slightly, he stood up and looked towards the children's sleeping area.

There was Nessa, standing at the foot of the bed with a towel wrapped generously around her, staring at him inquiringly.

_Damn. I __**knew**__ I was forgetting something. _Night-clothes weren't nearly as important as day-clothes or food, thus he'd completely overlooked them when he'd done his shopping.

Fortunately the problem was easily remedied.

"Nein. You and Arik can sleep in your underwear." For children their ages, night-clothes were more of a luxury than a necessity. Boys didn't need them, not really, and Nessa still had a few years to go before she even _started_ to reach puberty.

"What should I do with the towel?"

"Leave it in the bathroom. I'll take care of it in a few minutes."

The answer seemed to satisfy Nessa, who did as instructed.

Once Ludwig had finished arranging his boots under the master bed he grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and set it near the head of the small bed. Retrieving the special dark-blue candle, he placed it on the center of the seat and lit it with a match.

The heartwarming rescue scene blazed to life.

As if on cue Nessa and Arik chose that very moment to come out of the bathroom. Ludwig watched as their eyes shot to the candle; Arik rushed over to have a better look.

"Oh! This one is really pretty!" he declared, sounding quite pleased, "Look, Nessa! It's an angel!"

Ludwig took a couple of steps back to give the girl more room as she joined her brother in admiring the candle's artwork.

"It is!" Thoroughly delighted, Nessa turned to Ludwig. "Thank you, oh _thank you!_ This one is the most beautiful of all!"

A thin smile curled on the nation's pale lips. "I think so too."

"Herr Herrmann, do you believe in God?"

Ludwig's smile slipped. Eyes still held captive by the candle's emotionally-stirring imagery and warm, gentle glow, he replied in a soft, honest voice. "I used to. Now I'm not so sure." Though he'd always been the brutally honest type, this time he surprised even himself with his own frankness. He'd been raised as a believer, Gilbert had seen to that, but as time had worn on he'd begun to doubt his own religion to the point where he could no longer rightfully profess to be a follower of it. After the Great War he'd been on the fence as to whether or not he even believed in any kind of supreme being at all: sometimes he felt one way, sometimes another. So far he had seen nothing which had proven to him that God really existed, but he had also seen no proof that He _didn't _or_ couldn't_ exist, and absence of evidence was not evidence of absence.

Only one thing was certain: if God did exist, He wasn't helping the Jews.

Nessa crawled up onto the bed. "Were you Christian?"

Tearing his gaze away from the candle, Ludwig turned it instead on Nessa and nodded in a way which was quick and barely perceptible. It was a strange conversation to be having with a child, and a _Jewish_ one at that, but after all the hate-crimes, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness he'd witnessed over these last few years especially he found Nessa's perfectly innocent curiosity refreshing and enduring. "Ja. Protestant, like my brother."

He hadn't meant to bring Gilbert up in the conversation, it had just naturally slipped out: it was impossible for him to think of Christianity and the beliefs he had once held without also thinking of Gilbert.

"Your brother?" Nessa peeled back the blankets and slipped under until only her head, neck, and arms were visible. Jumping up onto the bed, her brother hastily joined her under the covers and scooted towards the wall. "What's he like?" Her wide eyes flickered with curiosity.

Again, Ludwig was caught-off guard by a question he hadn't been expecting.

At least this one was easy to answer.

"Proud, courageous, strong-willed, lively, a fierce warrior." The words flowed out of his mouth effortlessly — he'd been asked to describe Gilbert before, on various occasions, and these were always the first adjectives that came to mind. "Very excitable and passionate about what he believes, and extremely vocal too. He thinks very highly of himself and likes to bait and annoy people — _especially_ me — so he is not the easiest person to get along with, but he has a strong sense of justice and his heart is in the right place."

"Is he a Nazi too?"

"Ja."

"Like you?"

"What do you mean 'like me'?" Ludwig _thought_ he knew what the girl was getting at with that question, but a little clarity never hurt.

Nessa delicately cleared her throat, and for a moment uncertainty fluttered about her youthful features, as though she were afraid she'd pried bit too far with her questioning and was now searching for the right words to pull her out of potentially uncomfortable territory.

When she next spoke, it was in an urgent half-whisper. "Is he a _good_ Nazi like you?"

"Ja. Gilbert doesn't hurt innocent people, especially children. If he were in my situation he would have done as I have and rescued you."

"Where is he?"

"At the moment he's fighting on the frontlines somewhere in the vicinity of Moscow. It's where I'll likely be sent, once I've finished with you two and checked in with my boss."

As vital as the capture of Moscow was to the German campaign against the Soviet Union he was almost one-hundred percent certain of this. For all his shortcomings, heartless decrees, and questionable war strategies, Hitler was well aware of the fact that _all _Heads of State wielded absolute power and control over the living personification of their own respective nations, and that as boss to several other nations' bosses Joseph Stalin could easily command not only Russia, but every nation-spirit in the Soviet Union to fight to the death in defense of Moscow. Granted many of these countries were pathetically weak, and/or sickly, and/or starving, and even the strongest of them didn't possess anywhere near the brute physical strength and vitality of Russia, who, Germany had to admit, was quite the formidable foe, but they were still inhuman and could still be useful to the enemy, for their centuries of accumulated knowledge and life-experience and ability to successfully complete countless suicide missions if nothing else. With German soldiers so close to Moscow, the Führer surely saw that the best move he could possibly make at this point would be to throw as many nation-spirits as he could at Russia's heart with the order to capture it at all costs.

"_Finished_ with us?" Nessa queried, stressing the first word with curiosity, "What do you mean?"

_Well, no sense in putting it off any longer. _Ludwig looked directly into Nessa's eyes, and though his expression was dead-serious, this time the protective element in his voice was too strong to be mistaken for anything else. "Germany is no longer safe for you." He spoke slowly, each word devastatingly clear and powerful. "Nor is any place in Europe. What I'm about to ask you is _very_ important. Do you have any aunts, uncles, grandparents, adult cousins — _anyone_— living far, far away? So far away that it would take you days or weeks to visit them from where you used to live?"

The children went quiet. Ludwig could tell they were digging through their memories and doing their best to try and come of with a family member who fit that description.

"There's…there's Aunt Thelma." Nessa offered tentatively.

"Where does she live?"

"Switzerland."

Ludwig shook his head. "Too close." While he had yet to invade and conquer Switzerland, and Vash's "house" was still a safe haven for Jews, with the way Hitler was prone to working himself up into a spitting, howling rage over the country's very _existence_ who knew how long that would last. The German invasion of Switzerland, originally slated for last year, was already long overdue. So far Germany and the rest of Hitler's chief advisors had been successful in convincing the man to wait until they were in a more favorable position before taking on an entire military of extremely well-armed and well-organized soldiers who A) lived in the mountains, giving them an _extreme _advantage since any invading forces would have to go mountain-climbing while packing tons of weapons, ammunition, and gear, and B) were happy to remain neutral when left alone. But that could literally change at any moment. Hitler hated the Swiss for many reasons, chief amongst them being the fact that not only did Switzerland and his boss not support him and his ideals in any way, shape or form, and not only did they refuse to cooperate with even his smallest requests, but Switzerland had openly insulted him face-to-face and responded to his verbal threats in kind.

"What about Auntie Freida?" Arik suggested brightly, "She lives in Poland."

"Even worse. The whole country is crawling with Nazis." Poland was probably crawling literally, too, Germany imagined. With his own government in exile and his citizens and economy in the state they were in there was no way he could be healing very well from the many grievous injuries he had sustained on both his human and land bodies over the last couple of years.

The children exchanged worried glances.

"Do you think our aunt's alright?" Nessa asked.

"If she's a Jew, or a known Jew-sympathizer, then I sincerely doubt it." Ludwig hated how he was always having to break bad news to these kids, but he'd already broken the worst news possible to them, so there was definitely no point in reconsidering his brutal honesty policy now.

Arik and Nessa went silent again, the bleak nature of their guardian's honest opinion visibly dimming their spirits.

When several seconds passed without either of them saying a word, Ludwig tried again. "Can you think of _anyone_ else? I'd hate to set you up with a complete stranger, and I don't have many contacts in 'safe' countries anyway."

Nessa brightened suddenly. "Oh! We do have a cousin…we've only met her once before she moved, but she was really nice. Her name's Rebbekah."

Arik's face misted over with confusion. "I don't remember her." He gave his sister the kind of lost, helpless look that begged for more information to jog the memory.

"I do, but barely. I was about your age when she visited, and she didn't stay long, but she had such pretty long, dark hair and she was always smiling…she gave us some cookies, and they were SO good…I kept begging Mom to make some, but she said we didn't have the right ingredients."

Germany's hopes rose ever-so-slightly. "Where does this cousin of yours live?"

* * *

><p><em>O-o-O-o<em>

* * *

><p>The Jews.<p>

There they were, working themselves literally to death in the brutally harsh and unforgiving Vilnius ghetto, their shockingly pale, weak, and emaciated bodies eventually succumbing to the lethal combination of exhaustion, injury, illness, and starvation. Not one person among them wasn't suffering, even those who possessed enough physical strength to make it through each day. They'd all already lost someone dear and treasured: several someones in most cases. And they stood to lose so much more.

Still they toiled, just as much slaves to hope as slaves to their oppressors.

Watching them, a great confusion descended on Ludwig like a swirling, wild tempest. An ominous black shadow awoke from somewhere deep within him, a shadow whose dreams were the wicked impulse-urges that had streaked through his mind as recently as this morning. It was colder than death. With a voice that was somehow eerily familiar, it whispered poison into his thoughts: _Don't feel sorry for them. They deserve it. The Führer is right. They need to die…_

Disturbing thoughts chased disturbing images.

But which thoughts and images were disturbing? Did he want to help the Jews or destroy them? When they were marched, naked and helpless, to the waiting maws of the hungry mass-graves and blasted inside with a storm of bullets, was the shiver that went down his spine one of horrified disgust or sadistic delight?

_They are subhuman, corrupt, impure, trouble-makers…they will utterly destroy me if I don't rid myself of them…_

Now he knew why that sinister whisper sounded so familiar — it was his own voice.

With the realization came a flood of certainty which washed over and drowned out all prior misgivings. He knew now in iron-clad terms how he felt about the matter and what he needed to do. He went for the Maschinenpistole strapped around his neck. Never again would that weak, stupid creature that had existed inside him cause him to doubt the Jews' wickedness, his political party, his Führer…

_Movement!_

Ludwig shot up with a start into a sitting position. Barely a moment out of sleep, his unadjusted eyes couldn't see too well in the dim light the open bathroom door provided, but there was _definitely_ something on the bed with him, he could feel it _moving_.

Like lightning his right hand flashed under his pillow and withdrew his Walther PPK. He had the weapon cocked and pointed at the threat a full half-second before a child's voice rang out.

"Herr Herrmann?"

Arik sounded confused and a bit frightened. Though his eyes were still adjusting, Ludwig could clearly see his small body and the worry on his face as he stared at the gun trained on his head. He was sitting up on his knees, having crawled up onto the empty side of the bed.

_Arik?! _Ludwig's eyebrows rose appreciably; his arm dropped as though it'd been dealt a blow from Russia and his favorite length of pipe. "_Don't ever sneak up on me like that again!_" he scolded in an animated half-whisper, "I almost _shot_ you!"

"_Shot_ me?" Arik echoed nervously, also keeping his voice low. He quickly slipped into apology mode. "Sorry! I didn't mean ta sneak up on you, swear! Please don't be mad -"

"I'm not mad," Ludwig interrupted, and it was true, even though his grumpy expression and slightly churlish tone of voice indicated otherwise, "but it's dangerous to wake me up suddenly like that. I am a soldier who is used to sleeping in places where the enemy could come and kill me at any moment. If I didn't wake up at the slightest noise or movement and immediately point my gun at whatever woke me up I wouldn't be alive right now. It's an acquired reflex. Something I do automatically without thinking. It's the same as when you trip and put your arm out to protect your face from hitting the ground." He decocked the pistol and slid it back under his pillow. "Lucky for you I always _look_ before pulling the trigger." _Also that I'm not the anti-Semitic asshole I was in my dream. _

Just thinking about it chilled him to the bone. It was obvious why he was experiencing these unwanted thoughts, impulses, and now dreams. It had been obvious from the start. At first they'd been infrequent and easy to dismiss, so he hadn't thought too much about it beyond chalking it up to an unfortunate side-effect of being a nation-spirit and having a new and powerful political movement sweep the collective consciousness of his citizens. But as time wore on they were not only coming more and more, but getting stronger and harder to resist. His episode with Crazy Jew — who had turned out _not_ to be so crazy after all — and now the dream where he had literally lost his humanity and turned into someone else, a cruel, brainwashed monster of Defacto Second's ilk, stood testament to that.

For now he was still in control, still able to keep the demon at bay, but for how much longer? His Nazis were affecting his mind and soul, but could they actually _change his personality_?

He didn't know, and the very real possibility that the answer to this question was 'yes' scared him in a way that nothing else in the entire world was capable of.

Pushing the matter aside for now — really, what else _could_ he do — he gave Arik his full attention. "Now, why are you _here_?"

"I…I can't sleep good over there. I keep wakin' up. I…I want to sleep with you, if it's alright? You're big an' strong, and I feel safe with you."

It was amazing how a 5-year-old boy could do with a few simple words what strong and well-trained nation-spirits couldn't do with firearms and hand grenades; Ludwig found himself utterly disarmed and at the child's mercy. When a request was _that_ sweet, _that_ innocent, and _that_…_cute_…how on earth could he refuse it?

His face softening once more with a gentleness it very rarely displayed, the nation scooted back and peeled open his blankets. "Come on then."

Arik lost no time in accepting the invitation. When he was close enough Ludwig drew the blankets over both of them, fluffed and repositioned his pillow, and laid back down. Arik took a bit longer to settle, but at last all was still and they were ready for sleep.

"Herr Herrmann?"

Or not.

"Ja, Arik?"

"Are you going to c-"

"_Nein_! Run Arik! Get away! _Get away_!"

_What the hell?! _

Nessa was panicking. "Save yourself!"

While her cries weren't yet loud enough to draw attention from other rooms — _hopefully_ — they were still way too loud for comfort, and steadily growing both in volume and urgency.

With an incredibly rushed, half-whispered command to Arik to stay put and silent, Ludwig burst out of bed like he'd been bitten by a snake and covered the short distance to the children's bed in almost no time at all. Nessa bolted upright at the exact moment he reached her, eyes round and full of fear. She started to speak again…

"_Mmphf!_"

…only to be struck silent by Ludwig's hand closing over her mouth. "Shhhhh! Not so loud! Not so _loud_! Whisper! Now, what is _wrong_?" Slowly, he drew his hand away, gave her the chance to answer his question. Unfortunately there was no way for him to stand in front of her without casting her in his shadow, since his back was now in near-perfect alignment with the entrance to the bathroom, but he could still plainly see that she was shivering as though the temperature in the room had dropped to zero, that her gaze seemed to be fixed on something terrifying right in front of her that he couldn't see.

"He-he's coming," Nessa said in trembling whisper, "Getting closer. Nein! Please, please don't do to me what you did to Vitalija! I promise to be good! I _promise_!"

_So _that's _the problem — poor girl's recovering from a nightmare. _

A reality-inspired nightmare too, from the sound of it.

Ludwig had had a few of those: he knew that simply waking up all by itself wasn't enough to chase away the intense fear and dread, that sometimes it took even a few minutes for the realization that it had only been a dream and no real danger was present to occur to the dreamer.

"_Who _is coming? What does he want?" For the moment, at least, his curiosity was too much.

"_Hauptmann_." Simply saying his name sent a fresh chill down Nessa's spine. In that dim twilight state of consciousness that existed halfway between being fully asleep and fully awake, she appeared to be on the verge of either breaking down into tears or jumping out of bed and hitting the floor running. "He does terrible things to children, hurts them really bad…no! _MONSTERS_! _Monstersarecoming_!"

Enough was enough.

"Nessa! Wake up!" Bending down, Ludwig grabbed her by the shoulder furthest from him and shook her a little, taking care to dial back his great strength.

It seemed to be working: Nessa was looking at him now, seemingly registering his presence.

"Hauptmann isn't _here_." he continued the loudest half-whisper he dared, "Even if he were I would protect you and Arik from him. As for the monsters, I _guarantee _you I am the scariest thing in this room. So please calm down — you're safe."

All of it was very true, though, wearing only underwear and boxers and with his honey-blonde hair all ruffled and messy, Ludwig didn't imagine he _looked_ particularly menacing at this moment.

The words soothed Nessa, who was now fully awake. "Sorry, Herr Herrmann." she apologized quietly, a note of embarrassment entering her voice, "I had a bad dream."

Parental gracelessness descended upon Germany like an increasingly annoying new friend. What should he say now? Or would it be better to let his _actions_ speak? What would a father do in this situation? What had Prussia done for _him_?

Applewine or beer. Gilbert had always given him some after a nightmare to steady his nerves and help him get back to sleep. Of course, he'd also let him sleep next to him, but they usually slept in the same bed anyway most nights when Ludwig was under the "age" of twelve. Not because the latter had been too afraid to sleep by himself, but because Gilbert was extremely protective and it was a comfortable arrangement for them both.

Since he didn't have any applewine or beer…

"You can come sleep with me if you want," Ludwig offered lightly, nodding in the direction of the Master bed, "Your brother already is."

Nessa pounced on the idea. "JA! Oh yes, I'd like that very much!" She pushed the blankets off of herself and was just starting to move for the edge of the bed when Ludwig scooped her up with one arm, tossed her partway over his right shoulder, and carried her to over to _his_ bed, where Arik laid obediently under a little mound of covers.

Dropping sister next to brother, the nation then proceeded to walk around to his side of the bed and get in. A few seconds of jostling ensued as the trio got comfortable, during which Ludwig learned that he'd been mistaken in his guess as to where Nessa wanted to be; the moment he was still enough the older Goldberger sibling crawled over his stomach and slipped beneath the covers onto his left side — he had to scoot over to give her some room. They came to rest with Ludwig dead-center in the middle, a child on either side of him.

_How sweet. And problematic. _From the start he had resolved to be firm with these two, show them tough love for the sake of keeping them always somewhat afraid of him. If the children believed he didn't necessarily have their best interests at heart, it would be easier for the public and, more importantly, his comrades to believe it as well. But as the day — and especially the evening — had worn on he had found that increasingly harder to do, somehow, in spite of being a naturally intimidating figure with voice-tone issues, to the point where he now in their eyes was probably on the verge of singing them to sleep.

"I must warn you both that I'm not going to be nice to you when we leave the room tomorrow," he said seriously as Nessa snuggled into him, "Even without the yellow stars there are plenty of dangerous people out there — like Hauptmann and the local Einsatzgruppe — who already know who and what you are, and who can cause trouble for all of us. I may be high up on the Nazi chain of command, but even I can't get away with being seen being too friendly with Jews. The Einsatzgruppe is already suspicious enough of me as it is for showing compassion towards your mother and one other Jew, and they know that I might, just _might_, have the nerve to break the law and try to rescue you. The story right now is that I am using you as bait to capture your parents, but we have to be _very_ careful, and get as far away from Vilnius as we can first thing tomorrow morning, because the Gestapo are good at what they do and it's not going to take them very long to talk to the Einsatzgruppe and discover that they've already killed your parents, meaning that I have no legitimate business at all with you two."

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that, regardless of what happened to Arik and Nessa, he was almost certainly going to be facing a very hairy situation in the near future. Pretty much everything noteworthy that he had been involved in today had led his fellow Nazis to question either his loyalty or his motives. It was only a matter of time before Hauptmann and the Einsatzgruppe shared and connected their dots to get the whole picture. Short of hunting them down and killing them all — which was totally out of the question for just _so many_ reasons — there was nothing he could do to stop it. Even if tomorrow's plan went off without a hitch and he got Arik and Nessa to safety, he was definitely going to be feeling the aftershocks of this one way or another, whether they ended up being light or severe.

_To hell with it. I'll deal with the consequences as they come. The High Command know what I am, and I was on my way to speak with Hitler anyway. If I get murdered before then it'll only make me reach him faster._

"So you'll definitely get in trouble for helping us, then?" Nessa asked, worried, "But you'll be alright, won't you? I mean, Nazis kill other Germans, but they don't kill other _Nazis_, right?"

"Wrong. We are bound by oath and by duty to kill all traitors to the Reich. It doesn't matter if they're other Nazis or even our own family members."

"What?!" Nessa gasped, incredulous, and Ludwig could tell that she was struggling to keep her voice down, "That's crazy! What happens if they can't be sure whether or not you're a traitor?"

"If they feel they can make a strong enough case against you, they arrest you and you stand trial. If you're found guilty you're sentenced to death, usually by a firing squad."

"What's a traitor?" Arik asked innocently.

"Someone who turns against a group which they are a part of and which trusted them." He paused for a beat before continuing in same careful whisper he'd been using since he'd reached his bed. "Well, doesn't necessarily have to be a _group_ they're turning against — it could be a single person or even a cause — but the point is that someone trusts someone, and the person who is being trusted breaks that trust. For example, if Hauptmann decided to help the Russians fight against Germany he'd be a traitor to Germany and all Germans because we trusted that he would honor his oath of allegiance and remain loyal to us and our cause. I'm not a traitor, but some of my comrades suspect me of being one because I do not share their hatred of Jews. In their eyes you aren't a true Nazi unless you want all Jews dead. Hell, some take it a step further and don't even consider you a true _German _unless you think that way."

"Why do they hate us so much?" Nessa's small voice was full of sorrow, and the purest form of curiosity. "Did we do something…bad?"

"Nein. As a people the Jews are no better or worse than any other religious and nonreligious group out there. Most Nazis hate Jews because they believe the lies Hitler and a few other powerful and important people have been spreading about your people. They've been saying that the Jews made Germany lose the Great War, that Jews are greedy, corrupt, and inhuman, that they are like disease-carrying rats that want to destroy Germany."

"But _you_ don't believe that."

"Of course not. I know better. Hitler can lecture all he wants — I'm not going to believe him over my own eyes, my own experiences. The sun isn't purple just because he says so. Now," His voice took on a louder, commanding tone. "Time for sleep. We have a long day ahead of us."


	15. Unexpected Visitors and New Twists

**Chapter 15**

* * *

><p><em>Bangbangbang!<em>

Jolted awake for what had to be the ten-thousandth time in his life by a loud noise signifying potential danger, Ludwig twisted onto his back and erupted out of the blankets, abruptly displacing Arik and Nessa in the process. This fresh out of sleep he couldn't ascertain yet whether or not he'd just heard gunshots, but reflex again guided him swiftly through the motions of reclaiming and readying his PPK.

"Obergruppenführer!"

A man's voice, a _familiar _voice.

_Fuck, it's Schmitz! _If he was here than the whole Einsatzgruppe was here, and probably Hauptmann too…

_Thunkthunk! _"Obergruppenführer Herrmann! Please! I need to speak with you! I'm alone."

Hearing it again, Ludwig realized that it had been _knocking _he'd heard, not gunshots. In a superficial way it did sound a bit like a semi-automatic being fired in the distance, so it was only natural that his sleeping mind would mistake it for something he was used to hearing, and indeed, even_ expected _to hear. What was strange was Schmitz's behavior — why had he come alone? And why did he seem to be making an effort to keep the volume down? Though his knocking had been loud enough to wake Ludwig it objectively wasn't that loud, nor was his voice, despite its urgency.

"Just a minute!" Ludwig called out into the semi-darkness. He had no idea what time it was: his watch was in one of the pockets of his trenchcoat since he hated the feel of it around his wrist, and the hands of the clock that hung on the wall over the table were illegible in the dim lighting. However, the stillness and quietness of everything — coupled with the fact that he very rarely slept in past the seven-hundred hour even when he was free to do so and instinctively woke up much earlier whenever he had a big day ahead of him — alluded to the fact that it was _very _early, possibly even a few hours before sunrise.

_I don't like this. How the hell did he find me? I was so careful. And I gave that receptionist the specific instruction that my room number was to be given out under NO circumstances… _The thoughts blazed through his mind as he flung himself over Arik and, landing feet-first on the floor, scrambled to put on his uniform. No matter how he sliced it there was simply no way a pre-dawn visit from Schmitz could be good, and he had a strong feeling he and the children were going to have to leave at once. _Waitaminute, if it's as early as I think it is the door to the lobby should have been locked… _His heart beat faster — had the other Nazi actually _broken in _to get to him?!

The children stirred on the bed; Ludwig was a little too preoccupied with preparing for worst-case scenarios, getting dressed, and watching the door to watch them too closely, but from the looks of it Nessa was communicating silently with her little brother, probably telling him to keep quiet. Hopefully they'd also have the presence of mind to hide. Chances were Schmitz already knew they were here anyway, but just in case he didn't Ludwig preferred to leave him in the dark.

Getting dressed in a flash came with the territory of being in the military, and Ludwig was both fully-clad and fully-armed in well under two minutes. As ready as he'd ever be, he approached the door, unlocked it, and opened it just a crack.

There was Schmitz, also in full uniform, looking a bit troubled and nervous. Unlike Ludwig he was wearing his trenchcoat and hat — both of which were dusted with a fair amount of powdery white snow — and what was visible of his light-brown hair was neatly combed and slicked back. Though it was possible that he'd gotten up super-early, he had the jittery, second-wind look of a person who hadn't been to bed. He was indeed alone, at least from what Ludwig could see. His rifle was absent, and though he almost certainly carried at least a pistole somewhere on his person, it wasn't in either of his hands, which were covered by woolen grey gloves and empty. He shot an anxious glance down the hall before saying "Obergruppenführer, it would be safer to discuss these matters in your room. May I come in?"

Ludwig frowned. He and Schmitz may be on friendly terms, but the latter was still a member of what was essentially a gang of government-sanctioned brainwashed, cold-blooded murderers, and he _really_ didn't want to invite him in. "Is it life or death?" he asked quietly.

Rather than answer with words, Schmitz merely nodded.

Pistole cocked and ready in his right hand, Ludwig opened the door a tad more, took a cautious step out, and visually scanned the dimly-lit hall.

No one to the right.

No one to the left.

So far Schmitz was being honest; this was a good sign.

Satisfied that he was not about to become the victim of a treacherous ambush, the nation spirit stepped back into the room and tossed his head in the well-known gesture for "_go ahead_". As soon as the other man was inside he carefully closed and locked the door. "Now, what's so urgent that it made you hunt me down and wake me up at this hour?"

Schmitz at once straightened and assumed the appropriate military bearing for speaking to a superior. After a quick salute he launched into the heart of the matter. "Sir, Kriminalrat Hauptmann and Hauptsturmführer Weiss suspect you of treason. Hauptmann found us yesterday evening and asked us a bunch of questions. First he asked whom we thought was responsible for the underground explosions, then he asked about your conduct in the tunnels. Weiss told him all about your compassion for Jews and that little outburst you had once you learned what we were doing to them. Hauptmann told us you'd taken a couple of Jewish children into custody for questioning and to use as bait to capture their parents, whom you believed were responsible for the explosions. Weiss pointed out that you never told _us_ you had suspects in mind, then the discussion turned to how it looked like an inside job, and things went south from there." He paused just long enough to take a breath before continuing. "Herr Herrmann, we all remember you saying you'd do what you could to help your Jewish friend's children, even _after _you learned what she was. And you ordered us to leave the two of you alone right before she died…after speaking with us Hauptmann felt pretty confident that the children he'd caught you with belonged to your friend. As you can probably guess that wasn't the first time we'd seen her: several of us who were with you in the tunnels were also present when she and her husband tried their daring little escape. It wasn't difficult to identify the bodies, then get the identities of the children you took from Gens. Sure enough our suspicions were confirmed."

Ludwig decided he'd use his pistole as a club to knock Schmitz unconscious if the situation ended up calling for it. It was the quietest way to deal with the threat, and what amounted to a mere tap from him would be plenty of force. For the moment, however, both hand and weapon rested against his thigh. "I knew you'd all figure it out, I just didn't know _when_," he confessed in a low, deadly-serious voice, "To be honest I was counting on it being just a little bit later — I admit I'm impressed. But you came here to warn me…why?"

Schmitz kept his highly-respectful bearing. "Sir, it would not be possible for you to have more of my respect, my admiration, and my loyalty. What you said in the tunnels — it's all true. I joined the Einsatzgruppen because I fully supported the Nazi party and its ideals, but also for the prestige, the need to be a part of something important, and…" His tone became slightly more light-hearted and much more sheepish. "and because I love guns and shooting things. When I learned what my primary task would be, I thought sure, I can do that, no problem. Jews are nothing but overgrown, human-shaped rats, and I'm an exterminator doing a service to my kind. When it actually came time for me to do it…the first time I stood with the others and did what we do it was harder than I thought it would be for me to pull the trigger, I'm not going to lie. I hated them, and yet a small part of me didn't want to just slaughter them like that. At the time I couldn't explain why, it just didn't feel quite right. Then, as the weeks and months wore on and duty called me to hunt down and kill more and more, I came to understand why I couldn't take pleasure in it, why it bothered me.

"The Jews I slew…so many of them displayed unbelievable selflessness and love for one another. Adults shielded children with their own bodies even when they had to know it was useless, people took bullets for each other, some voluntarily went on 'suicide runs' in hopes of distracting us long enough for their families to escape. In the ghettos I've seen the starving give up food, the freezing give up clothes. Not all of them are like that, maybe not even most, but enough of them are…as you said, it's much easier to kill defenseless civilians when you don't see them as human. The more I saw for myself what the Jews were really like, the more I started to see that, in some ways, they were more human than us." He drew in a quick breath. "But I knew I was powerless to do anything about the situation, and you know as well as I do that this isn't the kind of job you can just quit. I told myself that it couldn't be too much longer, that soon I wouldn't have to do it again, that a brief cruel flash in my history wouldn't keep me from enjoying the rest of my life. In the meantime I resolved to harden my heart, to become _numb_ to them." Sorrow touched his face; he hung his head. "I almost succeeded, too, then _**you **_had to show up and say everything I never had the guts to say, and say it much better than I ever could have." He lifted his head. Once more green eyes locked with blue.

"You're not as great as they say, Obergruppenführer — you're even _greater. _You know that you could lose your rank, your reputation, your freedom — even your _life _— and it still isn't enough to stop you from keeping your promise to your friend and doing what you know is right. A man like that is worth dying for. As of yesterday I've been loyal to you above all others; I merely acted like I was on Weiss's side in order to learn his plan. Once I did I left to find you. We need to get these kids out of this city as quickly as possible, but we still have a little bit of time, I think — Hauptmann and Weiss don't know where you are yet. At least, not as far as I know."

_Mein Gott…_This…this was certainly an unexpected development, to say the least; for a moment Ludwig couldn't make his mouth work. The revelation that Schmitz had been battling his inner demons frankly surprised him more than he knew it had any right to, given that the same moral war was also being waged in his own mind. Not only that, but he'd inspired, actually _inspired_ the other Nazi to rise above his own fears and darker nature, even if it ultimately ended up only being a temporary thing. He'd brought out the best in him. Of course, Schmitz wouldn't be as impressed by his bravery or accomplishments if he knew what he really was and what abilities that granted him, but it felt damn good all the same. His lecture beneath Ponary hadn't been wasted, he'd made a difference.

However, one major detail was bothering him. "How did you know where to find me? I made _sure_ I wasn't being followed."

Schmitz shifted on his feet and went back to looking as wary as Gens had in the ghetto.

A frown dug at the corners of Ludwig's mouth. _Here comes more bad news._

"That's…just the thing. Around twenty-hundred yesterday all of us were gathered at the Vilnius train station discussing your possible whereabouts and coming up with a plan for tracking and confronting you. There was a blonde teenager there, someone we all took to be just another Lithuanian worker unloading freight from the trains. I remembered crossing paths with him a few times before, mainly around the train stations and ghettos, and thinking his behavior seemed a bit suspicious, rather like a spy or someone who was actively looking for somebody. So I kept an eye on him — secretly, of course — and that's when I noticed that not only was he watching us out of the corner of his eye, he seemed to have no problem understanding German. Not damning enough on its own, but I _was_ curious, so after we were dismissed I quickly changed clothes and followed him at a distance undercover. He went around speaking to a bunch of people in both Lithuanian and Polish, and every time he mentioned your name and title. I figured he was looking for you for his own reasons, and I was right: a few minutes after twenty-three hundred he led me to this hotel. Around that time he started getting rather skittish, so I left for an hour and a half to get changed and report to Weiss as scheduled. When I got back I staked the place out and found the door's lock had been picked. I went inside, found the register, found your name, and the rest you know. I didn't come immediately — I spent some time looking for our mystery teenager and trying to work out just what the hell I was going to _say _to you."

_A blonde teenager who knows Lithuanian and Polish haunting train stations and ghettos…it __**couldn't**__ be __**Poland**__, could it?_

Germany dismissed the idea at once. Poland was a hopelessly shallow, flippant, stupid ditz incapable of taking _anything _— even his own invasion — seriously: no way he'd bother learning any languages he hadn't been born with. Even if he had it was too much of a stretch to envision him quietly and competently sneaking around and remaining focused on any important task for more than two minutes, and there was also the matter of him being too badly injured and sick to do so anyway: most likely he was on his deathbed right now.

No, it had to be a member of the local underground Resistance…either that or someone looking to earn brownie points with Hauptmann and company by finding him first and leading them to him.

Ludwig's frown deepened. "I don't like this. Arik, Nessa," His gaze remained fixed on Schmitz and the door, "Get dressed and get your things together. We're leaving."

Neither child spoke, but he could hear them getting off the bed and moving to obey.

"Just out of curiosity, what made you stay in Vilnius?" Schmitz asked, eyes ticking from Ludwig to the children, then back again, "You had every chance to take the kiddies and leave immediately."

"The children were filthy, hungry, injured, and tired." Ludwig said soberly, "I wanted to let them rest up first, see how badly they were hurt. And I hadn't yet worked out where I was going to take them." He didn't regret that decision in spite of the recent development. The alternative wouldn't have been any better, and as it was he was going to have a hard enough time getting his charges to the arranged meeting place.

Together the Goldbergers made their way past Schmitz to the chair where their clothes were laid out. Awkward silence reigned as they began to dress without taking their eyes off the adults.

_Knock…knock…knock. _

Three slow, deliberate knocks on the door.

Ludwig and Schmitz gave a start and spun at once to face the threat; Schmitz's hand dove for his pistole.

"Hey, Germany, it's the mystery teen. I know it's not the best time, but I need your help."

_Shaykomay?! _Ludwig's eyebrows shot up, a strong wave of surprise sweeping his face.

Mystery Teen could speak the language of nation spirits!

Barely sparing the fraction of a second it took to utter a quick "Standby" to Schmitz, the country swiftly undid the lock, pulled open the door, and thrust his pistole into a fair, youthful face framed with straight, straw-colored hair. "_Poland?!_" He stressed the name in Shaykomay, not wishing to sound like a lunatic to Schmitz and the children.

Searing blue!

Wreaths of bright blue flame blazed as irises in each eye, and Ludwig knew at once that the young man standing in front of him was not a fellow nation spirit…

"No Sir, Poland's son."

"Poland's _son_?!" For just a moment, all rational thought-processes in the German's mind came to a screeching halt. The boy was telling the truth, he could see it in the fire in his eyes, sense it the way only a nation spirit could, in the form of a sudden, special 'tingling' in his soul. Looking upon this newcomer, who happened to look very much like his father save some subtle differences in the face, Ludwig could _feel _his Polishness, almost see images of Polish patriotism flow through his mind in a gentle current. Indeed, "children of nations", as they were aptly called, were easier for nation spirits to identify than their own kind.

"Yes Sir. My name is Lech. Lech £ukasiewicz."

Ludwig blinked, his expression a helpless, comically awkward kind of surprised akin to that most often seen on the faces of very masculine men who had just learned a good buddy of theirs loved donning the ladies' dresses, high-heels, and makeup after dark. Still, he did not lower his pistole. "I didn't know he was interested in women in that way," he admitted. _Always took him as more of a man's boy, someone who enjoyed __**being**__ the girl more than __**pleasing**__ the girls. _

"We get that a lot," Lech confessed, unabashed, "but for the record my father is actually bisexual, and just as capable as any other male nation of fathering human children. Mother truly was in love with him, pampered him like a king. It broke her heart when she caught him with Liet, er, I mean, Lithuania. She left the house one day when I was three and never came back — to this day we don't know what happened to her. I was raised by Liet and my father."

_And it just keeps getting more interesting. _Germany found the whole situation rather amusing: here Poland had found a woman crazy enough to not only willingly wait on him hand and foot like a servant, but who actually had somehow managed to fall in _love_ with him. Somehow they'd managed to overcome the heavy odds against a nation siring a child ( it was something like a 1 in 80 chance even when the timing was perfect and under the most ideal conditions, according to France, whom Germany didn't doubt would be an expert in such matters ), only for things to turn sour when the woman inevitably learned that her beloved loved Toris more than her, not that he probably would have been loyal to their bed anyway even if that _hadn't_ been the case, knowing him. As icing on the cake this mentally-unbalanced woman had for some reason decided to run off for good and leave her son with his father despite the fact that Feliks was immature, inattentive, irresponsible, and definitely _not_ the type who should be trusted to properly care for a child. If it weren't for Toris little Lech probably would have wandered outside and drowned in a pond or something while his father was off playing with ponies or gazing lovingly into a mirror.

Still, it didn't change the fact that he was an enemy, and a dangerously competent one at that.

"Well, that explains your manners, and how you learned Shaykomay." Without warning Ludwig lashed out with his left hand and seized the Pole by the throat, yanking him inside the room, shutting the door with a kick of his boot, and pinning him up against the wall in a series of inhumanly swift motions. "But not why you think I would help you with anything but a death wish." His voice was cold and deadly. He stared straight into his captive's eyes as though trying to freeze the flame out of them. "After what I did to your father I'm surprised you had the nerve to come within 200 kilometers of me. I don't have a personal grudge against _you_, but I can't have any super-patriotic insurgent Poles running around trying to destabilize my regime." Left hand still tightly closed around warm flesh, he raised the PPK, prepared to bring it down on Lech's head. "You should have seen this coming."

"Wait!" Lech choked, struggling for breath. His hands shot up around Ludwig's, and he tried in vain to pry the nation's fingers loose. "I was sent by Russia! He…wants to…"

"_Russia?_"

Damn, the surprises just kept coming.

Ludwig released Lech and pointed the muzzle of his gun at him as he recovered. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Schmitz and the children watching him in still, silent suspense, no doubt burning with curiosity over what was being said and what this was all about. Naturally, they had no way of knowing that Lech was special; Ludwig knew that, out of all of them, only he saw Lech's irises as tiny blue suns, that Schmitz, Arik, Nessa, and probably even Lech himself saw them as looking totally human and possibly as being a different color. To a country the eyes of all children of nations looked the same.

"Alright, Pole. You have thirty seconds to explain yourself."

Lech rubbed at the red fingernail imprints on his throat. "Russia's son Vanis was captured by Nazis a month ago here in Vilnius. Russia sent me to find and free him, with instructions that, if and only _if _the situation was too hopeless and I couldn't free Vanis without a lot of help, I was to find you and barter for his freedom in his stead. He says he'll trade you any German prisoner you name that's currently in Soviet hands for his son, and also promises not to harm your children if you have any and he happens to find them."

"Russia has a son _too?_" It was surprising news, but not as surprising as the fact that Poland had fathered a child: Germany had never doubted Russia's sexual orientation or ability to get any women he pleased whenever he wanted through both moral and immoral means. His question not a true question, he was speaking again before Lech had the chance to respond to it. "I refuse. Let him die. I don't make deals with my enemies, and I don't have any children to worry about."

Lech quirked an eyebrow, his face awash with curiosity. "Are you so sure about that? Is it impossible?"

Ludwig frowned. "No, it is not _impossible_, but it is _extremely_ unlikely. You know just as well as I do how hard it is for nations to have children even when they actively _try_, and I'm not exactly France, if you know what I mean. I have more important things to worry about."

"Like invading your neighbors and subjugating Europe?"

"The world belongs to the strong." Ludwig declared simply, and with more than a hint of pride. He raised his pistole again. Time to knock this Pole unconscious…

Lech's eyes widened. "Alright, you're young, and powerful, and ambitious — I get that. And who doesn't love the thrill of conquest? But aren't you even a little curious as to what a lone Russian was doing in firmly German-held territory in the first place?"

"Spying for his father. It's obvious."

Lech shook his head. "Russia forbade it. He didn't want him anywhere near enemy strongholds unless he and a bunch of Russian soldiers were right there with him. No, Vanis didn't come here to spy on Germans — he came to look for his mother, Lithuania. He has a tiny piece of her soul inside him as well as Russia's, so he was able to sense that something was really, really _wrong _here, and neither he nor his father had heard from her for a while, so he took it upon himself to come out here alone when his father couldn't on account of boss orders. He was worried she might be dying the permanent death that even nation spirits can't come back from, that it might be his last chance to see her."

Utter disbelief swept Ludwig's features — he looked at Lech as though he'd turned green and sprouted antlers. This was by far the most shocking news he'd heard all morning, and for more than one reason.

"Vanis is the child of _two_ nations?! But the odds of that happening are-"

"Not good, I know. According to China normally only one is born once every 600 years, give or take a century. There are rumors that Liet had help from England to increase her chances — he can do magic, after all, even if only on a small scale, and he doesn't botch _all_ of his spells — but I never asked them, and I don't know how likely England would be to agree to such a-"

"Also, what. The. _Hell_._**Russia**_?! For months now I've known about their romantic relationship, that Toris has a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome where he is concerned, and, yes, I even suspected the tense and twisted little love triangle between her, Russia, and Poland. Toris is one delusional, messed up little Baltic. But I would have thought her intelligence, compassion, and protective instincts would have kept her from having a child with the insane sadist who regularly beats the living hell out of both her _and_ Poland." Well aware of the passage of time and gripped with a sense of urgency — after all Hauptmann and the rest of the Einsatzgruppen could always show up earlier than Schmitz had predicted — Ludwig turned his head to make eye-contact with the other Nazi. Switching back to German, he said "Help the children get all their things together. We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Jawohl." Schmitz gave a brief salute before adding "What's the situation with _him_?" He eyed the Pole suspiciously.

"He's looking for someone. I'm still deciding what to do with him."

Quite unexpectedly, Nessa decided to speak up. "I don't know why, but he feels friendly to me."

Ludwig turned his head back in time to see Lech offer the girl a warm smile. "Danke, little one. You and your brother are nice to me also." His German, while not perfect, was surprisingly good.

Ludwig wondered why he'd chosen to learn it, decided it wasn't important enough to ask.

"On the subject of Ivan and Toris," Lech continued, turning his attention back to Ludwig and his language back to Shaykomay, "I do think Ivan loves her as much as it is possible for him to love anyone-"

"If you honestly believe that then you're just as delusional as Toris." Ludwig scoffed, following suit and switching languages. He heard Schmitz and the children moving to comply with his order in the background. "Let me share something with you, Lech." He lowered the pistole again. "When I went to Russia's house — the house he actually _lives_ in, not just his land-body — to reclaim Lithuania, I found her on her knees on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood with nasty cuts and bruises all over her body and the knife she'd been using to cut vegetables for dinner buried under her collarbone. She was barely conscious. She told me that Russia had done it to her — I don't remember the reason, but I do remember thinking that it wasn't sane. All of a sudden Russia came storming in, more pissed at Lithuania for not attacking me than me for going back on our pact and invading his house in both senses of the act. He started to go for her, but I attacked him first, and he was forced to fight with me instead. Toris pleaded with us both to stop the whole time, which naturally didn't work. Also, the whole time, Russia kept threatening her, saying that she'd picked the wrong side and that once he was finished with me he'd make her pay for her betrayal. Luckily for Toris I won the fight; after I 'killed' Russia I took her to my house and treated our injuries. You know what I found? She was every bit as weak, pale, and emaciated as the Jews in this city's ghetto, and there wasn't a square centimeter on her back that wasn't covered with welts and scars of all sizes and ages. They were marks from a bullwhip, and there were over a hundred of them. I thought Toris was an extreme masochist at first to willingly stay in a relationship with someone who could do that to her, but the more I talked to her the more I relaized that no, she simply had an extreme case of Stockholm Syndrome. I felt sorry for her…after all Ivan had done to her she had still begged me not to hurt him. I'm honestly shocked she would have his child even during a 'good time' knowing how unpredictable, violent, and sadistic he could be, and even more shocked that Vanis survived to adulthood."

"You have to remember that Ivan is also not right in the head," Lech explained, "To people who don't know him on a deep and personal level he usually appears sane, or only a little 'off'. But just under the surface his mind is pretty broken; I've spent more time than was healthy around him and seen him make some pretty bizarre connections between unrelated things, people, and events, and he almost always gets people's motives wrong or misreads them. Lately he's also grown extremely paranoid and sees danger and betrayal everywhere, even in places it doesn't exist. He does whip and beat Liet to a bloody mess sometimes, but, crazy as it is, he simply can't imagine that his actions are at all excessively violent, cruel, or totally out of the realm of reason. He honestly views the beatings as a reasonable form and level of punishment for bad behavior. To him beating your lover is no different from spanking a child; you do it to teach what is and isn't acceptable behavior. He can't see that it's wrong in this context, or that he takes it too far. It also doesn't help that he's sadistic without realizing it. He never beat Vanis and I because he knows we're human and wouldn't be able to survive it. As for why Toris had his child — she's told me herself that one of the main reasons was she was hoping it would cure him, bring out a purer form of love in him. Also, back around the time Vanis was conceived, Ivan wasn't quite as bad as he is now. For the past four decades or so he's had some scary episodes, but his mental state has really deteriorated a lot over the past twenty-five years. Or so I hear."

_That's the most fucked-up,__** twisted **__relationship I've ever heard of. _Ludwig doubted that his arch-enemy really loved Toris the way Lech claimed, but he had to admit the Pole had made a good argument for how he _could_. Vanis was another story — if Ivan was capable of loving anyone it would be him. The young man _did_ carry a piece of his soul, after all.

_Hmm…perhaps sparing him isn't such a bad idea. It'll give me some leverage over Ivan, and now that I know he's also Toris's son I wouldn't feel right just letting him die._

The sound of quiet packing, interspersed with a few short, whispered exchanges between the children and their unlikely helper filled the room. From the sound of it they were almost done.

Ludwig surrendered a clipped sigh while he ran his free hand over his messy hair. "Alright, Pole, deal's this. I am not going to _free_ Vanis, but if you help me escape this city with these children and throw the Gestappo and Einsatzgruppe off my trail — _and_ if you promise to stay out of any anti-German militias, armies, and terrorist groups — I'll make sure that Vanis stays alive. But remember, he only only stays alive so long as I don't have any reason to believe that you were involved in capturing or killing any of my men, or undermining my war and occupation efforts in any other way."

Lech nodded, suddenly in high spirits. "Yes Sir! I will!"

"I mean it," Ludwig continued sternly, "I know how fiercely patriotic your kind are. Don't let that spark of Poland soul in you convince you to do anything stupid."

Lech's face fell under a sudden wave of worry. "Speaking of Father, you're not actually going to _kill_ him, are you? I know how hard it is to permanently kill a nation spirit, but it _can _and_ has_ been done, and I know you're more than capable of doing it right now…please, Germany, I know he can be really annoying and stupidly defiant, and he _does _like to rile other nations up — even bigger, stronger ones who have a long history of curbstomping him — but he's good at heart, and we both know he didn't really kick off this war by invading you…"

Ludwig's expression remained hard and unmoved. "I'll think about it." he said austerely, though in truth he had already absorbed Poland's land in the political sense and attempts were already being made to 'Germanize' Feliks's people. The process was incomplete, however, and Ludwig could not yet feel events happening in any of his newly-acquired territories as happening to himself, but as time wore on he potentially stood to be responsible for the death of more than just Feliks, a prospect he wasn't altogether happy about. While there _were_ a few nation spirits he wanted dead, and whom he would gladly send into permanent oblivion if given the chance, he harbored no ill will against the vast majority of them and would much rather rule them than kill them.

Where Poland was concerned he didn't particularly care which way it went. On one hand the other nation annoyed and infuriated him with his _constant _taunts and provocations, and beating him within an inch of his life had been a deeply satisfying experience: on the other it was hard to hate someone _that _stupid and pathetic, who somehow managed to fight worse than most of his soldiers despite having superpowers and several centuries of life-experience.

"If you don't mind my asking, Herr, what is your name?" Ludwig heard Nessa ask quietly from the far side of the room.

"Schmitz." Schmitz stated, his tone of voice neither friendly nor unfriendly.

"Herr Schmitz, my bracelet slipped off my wrist and got stuck in the sink drain when I was washing my hands. I can see it down there, but I can't reach it. Do you think you can get it out for me?"

"_Bracelet?_" Schmitz sounded surprised. "How did you manage to keep a bracelet?"

"I didn't — it came with a dress Herr Herrmann got for me yesterday."

Thinking back on it, Ludwig did recall a silvery kid's bracelet bunched up in tiny, clear package attached to a tag on the dress. He hadn't been aware Nessa had opened it.

"I'll try." This was followed by the sound of boots on linoleum.

"How very kind of him," Lech scoffed, sticking to Shaykomay, "Considering that he'd rather be killing her than helping her."

"I don't think so," Ludwig said, hesitating slightly, "I believe him when he says he never enjoyed what he did."

"But he's a member of the _Death Squad_. Those guys go out of their _way_ to be assholes; they'd turn on their own mothers for the right price. Anyone who can look down the barrel of a gun and pull the trigger on an innocent human being has no soul and is not capable of caring about _anyone_, including his favorite general."

Ludwig frowned. "I don't think he's _soulless_…"

"But can we trust him? You _are _breaking your own laws by doing this, and Schmitz would be handsomely rewarded for double-crossing you. What if everything he's doing right now is all a ploy to gain your trust so he can stab you in the back at just the right moment?"

_He does have a point…_Though Ludwig still believed everything Schmitz had said about being loyal to him above all others and not really wanting to kill Jews even though he was able to go through with it, Lech was totally justified in thinking they had to be careful with how much they trusted him.

He answered the question with a question. "Do you have a gun?"

Lech shook his head vigorously — the very idea appeared to make him nervous. "No Sir. I didn't want to give your goons any reason to attack me."

Ludwig cast a quick glance to the far end of the room. Schmitz was still in the bathroom trying to get that bracelet out — Arik and Nessa were watching him intently from their bed. Quickly, before anyone had time to see, he launched his right hand towards Lech, spinning the weapon in it so that the grip faced him. "Hurry, take it. Hide it in your coat."

Lech snatched the pistole immediately and stuffed it an inner pocket of his long tan coat.

"Only use it in an emergency, to defend yourself and my interests. I'm going to send you and Schmitz out together to delay and distract Hauptmann and the Einsatzgruppe. Keep an eye on him, and don't let him know you have it unless the situation forces you to. It's fully loaded."

Lech nodded appreciatively. "Yes Sir! Don't worry, I definitely _won't_ use it unless I have to — I hate guns and don't want to kill _anyone_. I'd rather fight with my wits."

"Got it!"

Ludwig turned to see a triumphant Schmitz emerge from the bathroom, a bit of silver dangling from his hand. He tossed it to Nessa.

"I'd almost forgotten about that toothpick in my coat. Lucky for you I had it."

"Oh, thank you." Nessa rewarded him with a curt, sad little smile that appeared to be a bit forced before turning and running towards Ludwig. "We're ready to go now, Herr Herrmann." She came to a stop a meter away from him.

Arik bounded up beside her, clutching his tank. Both children were bundled up warmly in their new coats, scarves, and mittens.

Schmitz followed at a slower pace, carrying their suitcase. "I'm pretty sure we got everything that didn't come with the room." He gestured to the coat rack where Ludwig's trenchcoat, hat, and Maschinenpistole hung. "Except those."

"Good." Reaching the coat rack in two striding steps, Ludwig continued speaking in low German as he donned the rest of his winterwear. "Alright. Schmitz, children, Lech here is on our side. Schmitz, you and he are a two-man team as of now. Your orders are to keep Hauptmann and the Einsatzgruppe away from me and the children, and, if possible, cast suspicion away from me altogether. I don't need a lot of time — just enough to get 20 kilometers or so out of city limits. They don't know where we're going."

Schmitz nodded. "Affirmative. I already have a plan, Sir."

"Excellent." Ludwig felt a small swell of pride towards his citizen as he slung his MP35 around his shoulder and put his hat on. He didn't like that he hadn't gotten the chance to fix his messy hair before heading out into public, but it was by far not the first time it had happened, and it certainly would not be the last; for now, at least, his hat would hide it.

Time to get going.

The others stood still as he moved to the main door. When he got there, however, his hand froze over the knob.

What he was about to ask wasn't important. But the question had been burning at the back of his mind for the last several minutes and just wouldn't leave him alone… "Lech?"

"Yes?"

"Just out of curiosity, what does Russia think of you?" He had switched again to Shaykomay.

"Well," Lech responded wryly in the same language, "I think the fact that Liet had to tearfully beg him to rescue me from Katyn — and _then_ he waited until the very last possible moment just to watch my reaction to having the muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of my head — and the fact that he sent me all alone into the heart of a Nazi-occupied country on a one-man crusade to free his son from prison even if it meant seeking out a powerful enemy nation spirit who would, quite possibly, be totally unreceptive to making any deals and whom he was certain would either kill or imprison me even if he _did_ make a deal speaks volumes, don't you? He doesn't hate me — likes me a lot better than my father — but he definitely views me as expendable."

Ludwig turned the knob. "I suppose that's the best you can hope for."


	16. Safe At Last

** Chapter 16**

* * *

><p>"How much further, Herr Herrmann?"<p>

"Not far. It won't be long."

"Who are we meeting?"

"Someone who can help you."

"One of your friends?"

"No, he is definitely not my friend. In fact he may even attack me — that's why I want you two to be ready to run and hide the moment I give the order. He won't hurt you on purpose, but when he first sees me he might shoot at me before he realizes I have children with me. Some of the bullets could hit you by accident."

They were walking along a sandy beach in Lithuania, a good thirteen kilometers due north and slightly to the west of Klaipëda and the tip of the Curonian Spit. A wind-ruffled grey sea lapped at the shore to their left, small, choppy waves breaking without fanfare over grey-tan sand, driftwood, seashells, and the local wildlife, which appeared at a glance to consist mainly of crabs and seabirds. To their right, leaden dunes of sand increasingly gave way to beachgrass and low-lying shrubs that dominated the scene for maybe a kilometer or so before in turn yielding to more inland flora. Overhead a gloomy sky, choked with light grey rainclouds as far as the eye could see, misted them sporadically with rain. Though it was two hours past noon it looked and felt far more like a cold and foggy early morning. The water-vapor-rich air hung heavy with the scent of sea salt, seaweed, sea onion, and marine life. The children were bundled warmly in their winter coats, scarves, caps, and mittens, Ludwig in his trenchcoat and gloves. Undoubtedly the rain they were getting misted with from time to time had started out as snow. It was an awful day at to be at the beach, but they hadn't come for recreation.

Three days had passed since they'd left Vilnius that fateful morning. During that time Ludwig had wondered often as to the fate of Lech and Schmitz, the unlikely Polish-German tag-team, but so far Hauptmann and the Einsatzgruppe hadn't found him, and the German military presence he _had_ run into had been oblivious to his "possible traitor" status.

"Ehh, is he really that dangerous?" There was a shiver that was completely unrelated to the cold in Nessa's voice as she pressed on with her questions. Unlike her little brother — who stayed always a few strides in front of them, eager to be the first to claim any 'treasure' he might discover on the ground — she walked closely by Ludwig's side, scanning the horizon ahead almost as intently as her rescuer for the first sign of what the latter hoped would come to be their new temporary guardian.

"Not for you," the nation said simply, keen blue eyes picking out a dark dot which was sort of shaped like a small vessel on the shoreline way up in the distance, "Only for me because I'm a Nazi and he hates Nazis. But we do know each other, and we have a bit of a history together. More than likely he'll give me the chance to speak and explain the situation. I told him to meet me here alone in secret, that it was _very_ important, but I did not tell him why or what it was about. He will be very curious."

The shrill screeches of seabirds fighting over scraps of crab rang out over the constant crashing and rolling of the surf. Wings flapping and beaks clacking, they kicked and pecked mercilessly at each other a few dozen paces ahead, whirling masses of white-and-gray feathers creating tiny explosions of sand.

After being embroiled in one bloody battle after another, killing to protect and killing to win, constantly hearing the emotionally-charged shouts of the wounded and desperate between the earth-shaking explosions of bombs and artillery, the screaming whistle of missiles, and the steady stream of bangs and rat-tat-tats of bullets, Germany found it all very soothing. The clouds, the sea, the wind….even the noisy seabirds. Save the one other who was due to make an appearance there were no other humans or nations here; for the moment, at least, it was just them and Mother Nature in all her glory. Though he was a walking physical manifestation of civilization, the dirt, rocks, wilderness and unsettled regions that comprised his land-body were just as much a part of him as his citizens and their creations. Every now and then he liked to just go out and lose himself in nature, to relax and enjoy the scenery, to contemplate how and why he and his kind had come to exist in the first place.

Some of the best hours in his life, actually, had been spent laying outside on sleeping bags spread out over the ground with Italy under a blue-black sky full of shimmering stars. Feliciano had turned out to be more of a philosopher than he'd thought — once when he'd asked him why he sometimes spoke to celestial objects as though they were sentient and could hear him, it had lead to a very interesting and thought-provoking conversation.

_ "Why not? You know, Germany, to most humans we countries are nothing but dead chunks of land that they live on, lines drawn on a map to keep the peace between different groups who don't speak or look the same way, and who don't believe in the same things. I think even most of the ones who believe we exist in spirit would never guess we were actually sentient, and walking among them in human form! Well, what if its that way with planets, stars, and moons? If __**we**__ can be sentient, why can't __**they**__?"_

_ "I suppose they could," Ludwig had conceded, "But I doubt we could communicate with them, or that we'd even recognize them for what they were if we encountered them. We were created by humans, and our very survival depends on them. As a reflection of their collective consciousness we look, think, act, and speak like them. We couldn't change that if we wanted to. How would this work for, say, the Sun? It is impossible for life to exist there — how would the Sun develop a sentient spirit?"_

_ "Silly Germany, we're __**countries**_. _Of course we need an advanced civilization to exist! But planets and stars — they don't. They existed before life as we know it. Even if they aren't able to have life like Earth, why couldn't they have their own spirits?"_

_ "I'm really glad I was created a nation then," Ludwig had said seriously, "and not some planet or star way out in the middle of nowhere with no life within light-years. You do realize that star and planet spirits would have lifespans in the billions of years, right? There isn't much that can destroy them. It would be torture to exist for that long with no life-forms to interact with, no purpose. Just sitting in the vastness of space doing nothing except getting hit by comets and meteors."_

_ "I figure they spend most of their lives sleeping," Feliciano had went on dreamily, gazing up at the Orion constellation as though in a trance, "And only wake up when something exciting happens. They'd be able to teleport, of course, and take any physical form they wished. Also speak in all languages to arise in their solar systems, because they have plenty of time to learn."_

_ Ludwig had only blinked and continued to stare into the night sky, not really sure what to say to all of that. Sure, it sounded crazy on the surface, and he did wonder at where Italy was getting some of his ideas about what celestial spirits were like when he had obviously never met any, but then, the concept of nations having their own sentient souls did sound crazy too, he was right._

_ "I'd really like to meet the Sun," Feliciano had went on, "I think he'd be warm, caring, and gentle. I'd show him how to cook pasta, and he'd show me some of his magic tricks."_

_ "What makes you so sure the Sun would have a gentle disposition?" Ludwig had asked, "It's a giant nuclear furnace that sometimes erupts with massive jets of plasma-fire several times bigger than the entire __**Earth**__." _

_ "Don't you know? According to scientists the Sun is incredibly calm and stable for a star. One of the calmest and most stable they've seen. He made life here possible — I figure he'd love us like children and want to protect us."_

_ "Scientists? I didn't know you read anything other than cookbooks."_

_ The statement had elicited a light-hearted chuckle from Italy. "Of course I do! I love cooking, and I love creating art, but they are not the __**only**__ things I am interested in! Astronomy has always fascinated me."_

_ "If you're right about stars and planets having their own spirits, then why haven't we met any yet? I can see them keeping humans in the dark about what they really are if they visited this world, but why would they hide from us as well? After all, we'd be part of the same family born of the same magic. I would think Earth especially would want to reveal herself to us."_

_ "I don't know," Feliciano had admitted, undaunted, "I'm sure there's a reason for it."_

"Herr Herrmann?" Arik's voice pulled Ludwig fully back to the present. He had stopped and waited for them; green eyes latched onto blue as he looked up expectantly at his rescuer.

"Ja?"

God, he was so tiny. _I don't think I was ever that small, _Ludwig thought seriously, recalling how he'd been "born" with the physical appearance and mentality of a fit and healthy five-year-old. He halted in front of the child.

"Will ya please come an' live with us? _Please_? We'll miss you if ya don't!"

"Ja!" Nessa piped up at once, suddenly and quite unexpectedly crossing in front of Ludwig and throwing her arms around his waist in a tight hug, "Please come live with us! We need a father and I know Cousin Rebbekah would help us!"

Ludwig's eyebrows jerked up: awkward surprise played with his features once more. _Wasn't expecting __**this**__. _

Unexpected, and awkward, and a complication to the present situation, but also so wonderfully, pleasantly warm and sweet. The surprise vanished and a small smile swept his face. He reached down and ran a gloved hand through the copper-tinted tresses spilling out from under Nessa's snowcap, dislodging it a little in the process.

"I can't," he said simply, "I have to stay and fight for our country."

"Why?" Nessa let go and looked up at him sadly, pleadingly.

"It's my job."

Nessa shook her head, slowly in spite of the quicker tempo she used when she next spoke. "Get a different job then. Don't work for these bad men."

"Yeah," Arik agreed, "You don't _hafta _be a Nazi. Come live with us and your boss and the bad Nazis won't be able to stop ya!"

_ Yes, I really do "hafta" be a Nazi. I'm Hitler's country — he wouldn't allow me to be anything else even if I wanted to. _Ludwig sighed. "You don't understand. I _have_ to stay. Deutschland needs good people now more than ever. Besides, I am not welcome in what will soon be your new country. They don't want former members of the Wehrmacht and SS, no matter how 'nice' we are. I would be in more danger there than here." Somewhere during his speech Nessa had lowered her head; kneeling down on one knee, he set the suitcase containing all the children's supplies and worldly belongings down and slid a finger under her chin, tilting her head up slightly.

Tears were already beginning to well in her eyes.

Behind her, Arik looked equally as dejected, though his eyes were drier.

Another arrow of sadness and regret shot through Ludwig, joining with the ones already lodged in his heart. This was not at all what he wanted, but it couldn't be helped. Unlike humans he didn't have the option of destroying his former identity and starting all over again in a different country if things got too bad. A nation spirit could not choose to quit being a nation spirit any more than a human could choose to quit being a human. Not that he would ever choose to be human even if he could — in spite of the bad that came with it he loved being a nation too much, loved the power, inhuman attributes, and immortality it granted him. He didn't want to raise children anyway, didn't want to be tied down like that. Not to mention he was trusting himself less and less these days. He wasn't safe for _any_ Jew, child or otherwise, to be around long-term, not when the darkness in his own soul kept threatening to rise up and overwhelm him, to devour all goodness and humanity in him until he was nothing but a hateful, murderous shell.

"I'm sorry, but is _has_ to be this way," he told the sad little face resting on his finger, his voice not quite as warm and gentle as it had been back in the hotel but still a shade softer than usual, "You and your brother are only safe in places where I am not. Where _I_ am safe, _you_ are not safe. There is no way for us to be together."

"But…but what if you get caught and they decide you're a traitor?"

"Trust me, I'll be alright." He stared deep into her eyes, willing the message into her brain. "All I have to do is reach Hitler and the German High Command. I'm one of their favorites, and without the two of you or any incriminating pictures or audio Hauptmann and Weiss have no solid proof I did anything illegal. I can say that I killed you and disposed of the bodies and no one but you and this man we're meeting will ever know any different. Hell, even the stuff I bought for you…all I have to do is claim it was presents for my friends' children and I already sent it off in the post. How are they going to prove it wasn't?"

The words seemed to reassure the children, though the overall mood was still as gloomy as the weather.

Ludwig pulled his right hand away and scooped the suitcase back up with his left as he stood. Moving around the children, he started walking again, his pace a little on the brisk side, but not so much that his two young charges couldn't keep up.

Over the next few minutes, not a word passed between them. On they trekked, Ludwig leading the way, Arik and Nessa following a few steps behind, taking in the scenery and keeping a sharp eye out for this man they were supposed to be meeting, someone who was, to them anyway, a still largely-mysterious figure whose name and physical appearance remained unknown. The playfulness of earlier was gone — Arik didn't seem to be in any big hurry to be the first to find "treasures" anymore, though Ludwig did catch him scanning the beach hopefully. Nessa, clearly troubled and anxious, appeared to be deep in thought.

Ludwig's eyes hadn't deceived him: the stranded vessel he thought he'd spotted earlier turned out to be just that, a fact which became more and more obvious the closer they got to it. _It's him. It __**has**__ to be. _

It was always possible he was wrong, but the odds that even a fisherman had decided to just leave his vessel beached like a whale while he wandered off on this particular stretch of coastline to do God knew what at exactly the time and place where Ludwig had arranged a secret meeting with a fellow nation spirit were slim. They were still maybe half a kilometer away when he led the children to a massive piece of sun-bleached driftwood that rested perpendicular to the sea and was partially embedded in the ground.

"Wait here," he commanded, setting the suitcase down at the base of the big log, "Hide behind this log, and do _not_ go out in front of it under _any_ circumstances. I'm almost certain that boat up there belongs to the man we're meeting. That we haven't seen him yet means he's probably hiding somewhere — like I said he and I don't trust each other. I'm going to go and draw him out. When it's safe I'll lead him back here and introduce you."

The children looked first to each other, then to him, and nodded. "Jawohl." they conceded seriously, managing almost perfect unison.

It was probably an unnecessary precaution, but better safe than sorry, especially when they were dealing with an extremely opinionated and plucky young nation who had never been famous for his ability to read the atmosphere and look before he leapt.

It was time.

Walking around the children's hiding place, Ludwig did a quick visual scan of as much of the beach as he could see, just to be certain he wasn't missing anything, then broke into a run. Without a bunch of potential witnesses around he felt comfortable moving at cheetah speed — like many of his kind he was capable of running somewhere around fifty percent faster when he really wanted to, but for now, at least, the need was not there.

When he was directly across from the boat he stopped and had a look at it. Now that he was much closer he saw that it was a medium-sized fishing vessel: a few large nets lapped over its ground-listing starboard side. White sails drawn, it was in less-than-perfect but clearly seaworthy shape with good, largely-undamaged wood and tight seals. However, there was definitely something strange about its present position and the present position of its anchor…

"America, I know you're here," Germany called out in loudly in Shaykomay, "Nothing else but a severe storm could have pushed a boat this big this far inland, and a storm wouldn't have left the anchor and chain leading out in a straight line towards the shore. Show yourself! Or don't you want to know what this is all about?"

An ominously familiar metallic 'click' punctured the air.

Ludwig whirled to see none other than the United States of America himself rising up from the crouch he'd been in behind a piece of driftwood lying in depressed area surrounded by lots of tall beachgrass. His left hand clutched a dark grey pistol, which was held out threateningly and pointed at Ludwig's head.

"I do, yes. It isn't every day a kraut calls me up and asks me to meet him in secret on some distant beach in Lithuania. I don't even know how you got my personal number, or how you were able to convince my operators to put your call through…" Though on the surface his voice was upbeat and cheerful, there was a bit of a bite and an unmistakably hostile undercurrent to it. Keeping his gun trained on Ludwig, he walked around his hiding place and stood to face him boldly, a fresh breeze ruffling his uncovered wheat-blonde hair. He was dressed in civilian clothes, for the most part: a simple dark-grey sportcoat over a white shirt garnished with a blue tie and light-cream pants held up with a sand-colored belt made up the bulk of his attire, all of them surprisingly dry given the present weather conditions and the fact that their owner had obviously spent some time wading through the surf not too long ago. Only his olive-green boots were military-issue — these also were much drier than they had any right to be.

Mild annoyance twitched at the corner of Ludwig's mouth at the use of the heavily-stereotyped ethnic slur. It wasn't much of an insult — like many of his fellow Germans he _did_ happen to love sauerkraut, the eating of which was hardly a crime and hardly restricted to Germans alone — and out of the mouth of a friend in a playful or endearing context it wouldn't bother him at all, but the knowledge that they'd barely met up and already Alfred was trying to get under his skin irked him.

For the moment, at least, he chose to ignore it.

"I got your phone number from Spain, who got it from Italy, who got it from _you_. Apparently Feliciano's planning on coming over to your house — _literally_ — and teaching you how to 'properly' cook Italian food at some point in the future, an arrangement which you agreed to. As for your telephone operators…" A smug look swept his face as he switched languages. "You are not zee only von who can shpeak English. Zey ver only too happy to help me, eefen vis zis accent." He'd learned some English during the Great War to better help him spy on his English-speaking enemies. It was coming in handy now as well, though he still had a way to go before he was fully fluent and accent-free.

Alfred frowned, no doubt upset by his own carelessness and disappointed in his people for their willingness to aid what was, as far as any of them knew, the citizen of an "unfriendly" nation.

Amusing.

Ludwig continued, switching back to Shaykomay. "How long have you been waiting for me? I see your clothes are dry."

"About four hours," Alfred replied conversationally, still eying the other nation with a healthy dose of suspicion, "I knew I'd have to get wet so I brought an extra set of clothes with me. I made a fire, put it out about an hour ago so as not to give away my position. I kinda figured the boat would get your attention. Now that _that's_ out of the way, why am I here, Germany? You said it was important. _Vital_, even."

"It is. You can put that gun away — we're not at war and I don't want to fight. I-"

"_You_, not want to fight?" America gave a wry chuckle, "That's funny because Poland, France, Belgium, and England all describe you as a bloodthirsty warmonger who can't get enough violence and death. You framed Poland for the attack on that radio tower — don't even _bother_ trying to deny it, because we _all_ know you did — just so you'd have an excuse to invade him, and now it looks like you probably permanently killed him. _Permanently killed _a _nation_. I have to hand it to you, Luddy, that's a claim not many of us can make. You've been raging across Europe like a rabid elephant, destroying cities and lives left and right, only it _still _obviously wasn't enough for you, because only a few months ago you even turned on one of your own allies. No wonder Italy sucks up to you — he's afraid of what'll happen to him and his Italians if he doesn't. And you yourself said —"

"SHUT UP!" Ludwig roared, furious, "I meant _YOU_! I don't want to fight _**YOU**_."

"Well of course," Alfred goaded, his expression and entire demeanor infuriatingly smug, "That's because you know I'd kick your Natzi ass and free all those countries you enslaved."

"What about the countries _you've_ invaded, hypocrite, one of which was your own brother? He didn't do anything to instigate it. What, were you just tired of him beating you at ice-hockey?"

"No! England was playing the 'fuck you' card on me and getting his colonies and the Indians in on the act, so I turned to Canada for help—"

"Asking for help by invading?" Amusement played across Ludwig's features; his mouth twisted with a taunting little smirk. "That doesn't seem like a good plan. And we both know there was more to it than that. You wanted to annex him."

Alfred's expression shifted — he wasn't frowning and he didn't appear to be angry, but he suddenly looked a lot less comfortable. "You don't understand, there were circumstances! Matthew wasn't cooperating, and all I wanted was for us — hey! How the hell do you even _know_ about all of this? You didn't exist even as a proto-nation back in nineteen — I mean eighteen — twelve.

"Prussia did. He told me about it. He also made sure I was educated in geography and world history. You know, two subjects that _every_ nation spirit should have a good working knowledge of? What about the Philippines? If occupying other nations and stripping them of their precious freedom and independence is so wrong, then why did you do it to _him_? Why is it that when _you_ invade, conquer, and occupy it's either to 'save the day', or 'serve justice', or "there are circumstances", or, hell, even business as usual, but when I do I'm the embodiment of evil and everything that's wrong with humanity?"

"Okay, first of all, that thing with the Philippines? He declared war on me first. And it didn't help that the general my boss had stationed over there _wanted_ war, didn't listen to him very well, and liked to act on his own without first getting any kind of approval from Washington. As for why I didn't just grant him his freedom and independence from the start, well, that was way more my bosses' idea than mine personally. Secondly…" Frustration set in. "Alright, so I made a few mistakes. _Tiny_ mistakes. With Canada." He paused, briefly, before grudgingly adding "If I were perfect I'd be Heaven, not the United States of America. But!" His voice picked up again, took on an accusing tone. "Everything I've ever done pales in comparison to what you're doing now — "

Germany couldn't help but break out into a toothless smile. "Thank you. At least we agree on that."

"I meant everything _bad_." Alfred clarified, his expression as well as his voice darkening. "All joking aside, you're trying to _murder_ other nations and enslave their people for your own personal gain. Thousands of innocent human beings die every day in some way or another because of _you_. If it was all your boss's doing and he was forcing you to act against your will that would be one thing, but you, personally, as a nation _and_ as an individual, support him and his crazy hate-propaganda. _That's _what makes you the bad guy here, Luddy."

"For your information, _Alfie_, no, I _don't_ actually support my boss's crazy hate-propaganda. That's why I'm here right now. _Yes_ I want to expand, _yes_ I want more resources, _yes_ I want to conquer and rule — not necessarily _kill_ — other countries, and you're damned right I started this war for those reasons. I want the best of everything for my citizens, to be the most powerful empire on Earth. The strong exploit the weak — it's the natural order of things. Those who can't or won't fight me off deserve to be subjugated by me. _However_," The last word got special emphasis. "this doesn't mean I agree with the Nazi party on _everything_."

"Like what?" Alfred asked, curious.

"Put that gun away and I'll show you."

Alfred complied, slipping the weapon into a low, deep pocket on his sportcoat.

A chilly breeze flared up, and it was then that Ludwig noticed that something was missing from America's attire, something important. "Aren't you cold?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at the bespectacled country. That sportcoat was definitely too thin to keep its wearer warm in this kind of weather, and now that he thought about it Alfred did look a little a bit paler than usual.

"Naw, _real_ nations don't need coats. It's not even that cold out anyway."

"It got wet, didn't it?"

Alfred nodded sheepishly. "I got it semi-dry, but that was the best I could do before I had to put the fire out."

Ludwig couldn't resist having a little fun with the situation. "It's a good thing you don't need it then."

"Yeah."

_ So predictable. _Ludwig chuckled a bit inside: Alfred was the type who would rather walk through a blackberry bush naked than admit that thorns hurt him.

It was time he met Arik and Nessa. "Follow me." he said, turning back the way he'd come and tearing down the beach at the same speed as before, startling a newly-formed flock of seabirds and almost trampling one of them underfoot. Naturally, Alfred had no trouble keeping up with him, and they reached the big log of driftwood in well under a minute. Ludwig stopped in front of it, and Alfred followed his lead.

"Nessa, Arik, it's safe," he called out in German, "Come out and meet Herr Jones."

Together, the children emerged cautiously from around the seaward side of the log. Their eyes at once went to Alfred, who was just as quick to notice them.

"_Children?_" There was a strong element of surprise in Alfred's voice. He stared at the Goldbergers as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "_This_ is what you wanted to show me?"

"Yes." _Better bite the bullet and get it over with. _Germany winced inwardly — he was about to do something which he very, _very _rarely did, something which made him feel incredibly awkward, vulnerable, and pathetic, and which he passionately hated doing. If there were any other way…

But there wasn't.

He had to do it. It would make Alfred so much more likely to accept his new mission, a mission which he couldn't very well force on him, after all.

"Alfred, you're here because I need your help."

There. He'd taken his medicine. The rest wouldn't be as hard. "These are Jews. _Orphan_ Jews. Their parents were killed by my SS, who would have killed them, too, had I not intervened. They're also Germans…at least they were until they were exiled from my borders by their own compatriots. Now most of their family and friends are dead, no place in Europe is truly safe for them, and I can't protect them anymore. They — "

"Whoa-whoa-whoa, hold on, hold _on_." Alfred turned to Ludwig, face slack with the same amazement which also sparkled from his blue eyes. "You mean you're actually _helping_ Jews? I thought you hated them."

"Everyone thinks that, all because of my boss and my political affiliation. No, I don't hate them. As an individual I'm not anti-Semitic at all. Even if I were, these are _children_. I would have rescued them regardless, even if they were Russians. I'm Germany, not the Red Skull."

Alfred's eyebrows rose: he looked more surprised than ever. "You read my comics?"

Ludwig's lips curled with a paper-thin smile. "Yes _Captain America_. I have spies too. One of them brought me a few issues…quite entertaining. It's obvious Steve Rogers is based on you. Rest assured, if the Red Skull were real you and the Captain wouldn't have to worry about him for too long, because he and I would hate each other and I would kill him myself the moment I learned about even a fraction of the things he was doing."

"Well, that's good to know." Alfred turned his face back to the children, who were gazing wonderingly at both adults. "Heh, these guys are cute." Smiling, he kneeled down on one knee to have a better look.

"Their names are Arik and Nessa Goldberger," Ludwig went on, "Brother and sister. They have an adult cousin living in your borders. I can't take them to her for obvious reasons. You want to be a hero? Here's your chance."

A few seconds slipped by in silence as children and adults studied each other. The Goldberger siblings appeared to be far more curious about Alfred than frightened of him — they seemed particularly fascinated by the cowlick in his hair. Ludwig caught them staring at it.

Alfred's expression remained warm and inviting.

That was encouraging.

"Sure, I'll take them." the American said at last, "They'll be safe with me."

It was as though a weight had been lifted from Ludwig's chest; he hadn't been expecting Alfred to object, not really, not with his generally friendly disposition and hero complex, but nothing beat verbal confirmation.

He'd done it.

He'd kept his promise.

Now all that remained was the final farewell.

"Herr Herrmann, what did he say?" Nessa asked hopefully.

"I told Herr Jones of the situation, and he has agreed to take over guardianship of you. He says you're safe with him."

"I don't know what you just said," Alfred piped up in Shaykomay, "But I caught _Jones_. They can call me 'Al' if they want."

"He says to call him 'Al'." Ludwig translated.

"Al?" Arik and Nessa chimed in unison.

"That's me!" Alfred said jovially, switching to English and winking. He held out a hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you!"

Surprisingly, Nessa, the more cautious and timid of the two, was the first to come forward. Smiling, she removed a mitten, closed her small hand over the top of Alfred's much larger one, and gave it a few quick, weak shakes. Before she was done she turned her attention to Ludwig, mild panic setting in. "Herr Herrmann! What should I say?"

"Say 'Hello, nice to meet you too.'" Ludwig stressed the English slowly and clearly.

Nessa repeated the phrase back to Alfred perfectly before ending her handshake and moving aside to allow her brother a turn.

Arik removed his mitten, copied his sister's style of handshake, and when it was his turn to speak he did just as well with his English.

_ Smart kids. A shame I have to lose them. _From the time Ludwig had first encountered them the brother-sister duo had shown all the signs of being on the brighter side of intelligence spectrum, especially for their ages. They'd make their new country proud someday. Maybe one or both of them would grow up to achieve something really significant in the arts or sciences.

"Herr Herrmann? Cannya ask Al why some of his hair stands up all weird?" Arik was studying the cowlick with an intensity that was bound to make America wonder just what the hell he was looking at.

Nessa's admonishment came right on cue. "Arik! That's rude!" She shot the boy a hard look.

"What? What is it?" Alfred couldn't hold his curiosity back any longer. He looked to Ludwig expectantly.

"Arik wants to know why your hair sticks up like that," Ludwig replied, enjoying the spontaneous humor of the moment, "You know, that tuft you have near your forehead?"

"Oh, that's Nantucket." Alfred paused, thoughtful. "Tell him it has a mind of its own."

Ludwig relayed the information to the children, prompting Arik to scrutinize it even more closely, as though he were seriously trying to figure out how hair could have a mind. "Can I touch it?"

"He wants to know if he can touch it." Ludwig translated, amused.

Alfred appeared to be a bit startled by — though not uncomfortable with — the request. He turned his face back towards Arik, met the child's gaze. "Well, alright," he said, smiling again, "No harm in that." Already on one knee, he nonetheless crouched down a bit lower to make it even easier for Arik, who was a bit on the short side for his age.

Ludwig gave Arik a curt nod, a small smile gracing his own lips. "Go ahead. He doesn't mind."

Arik reached out with his bare hand and touched the symbolic representation of Nantucket with two fingers. He stroked it _very_ lightly for a couple of seconds, as though afraid of ruining it. Then he brought his thumb up and rubbed the little wheat-colored tuft between his fingers, and an excited grin appeared on his face. "Nessa! You gotta _feel_ this! It's _soo_ soft. Like…like a kitt'n."

Ludwig couldn't help himself; for the first time all year he broke out into a full-blown laugh. Such a laugh from him was a rare phenomenon, one which, when it occurred, usually had the unintended effect of making everyone who heard it feel at least a little uneasy, both because it was so contraire to his usual overly serious nature and because it possessed a dark, dangerous quality which made it sound more like the laugh of a sadist who was about to do something horrible to someone than a man who genuinely found something innocent funny.

"What?! What's so funny?" Alfred's eyes shot accusingly over to Ludwig. He didn't move as Nessa rushed up and joined her brother in petting him.

_ Soft! Like a kitten! The 'mighty' United States of America. He might as well be one, the way they're petting him. _

Who would have known children could be this much _fun_?

"They say your hair is as soft as kitten fur." Ludwig answered after a few seconds, his laughter dying away to leave only two visual cues of amusement in the form of a tiny smirk on his face and a playful spark in his eyes.

Bewilderment flickered across Alfred's features. "Soft? Heh, I always thought of it as being normal-texture. Makes me wonder what kind of shampoo these kids are used to, if I'm 'soft'.

_ It's only recently they've been using shampoo again. _Ludwig thought. Not that he would share that little detail with Alfred. One remark could open the floodgates for relentless questioning, and the less the American knew about what his citizens were really doing to the Jews, the Gypsies, and all the others they found unfit to coexist with them in their "perfect Aryan world" the better. From their interaction thus far it was clear that Alfred knew _something_ of the European Jews' plight, though how much he knew remained uncertain, and just in case Ludwig didn't want to be the one to break it to him that, although the irredeemably evil, bloodthirsty murder-machine the Red Skull was fictional, there were real-life Nazis out there who were either just like him or would be if given the chance. Thankfully none of them had made it to the highest circle of the High Command — Heinrich Himmler probably came closest, but Ludwig sincerely doubted he did any of the actual dirty work that he ordered the SS to do himself.

A chilling wind blew up. The children stopped playing with Alfred's hair, and the latter pulled back and once more rose to his full height, seemingly unbothered by the elements' merciless assault on his uncovered head. The playfulness of earlier was gone. A few strangely calm, meaningful moments slipped by in which not a word was spoken, the soothing, ancient rhythm of the roiling tide, the weather, and the cries of the seabirds the only sounds.

_ This is it. No sense in dragging it out, making it harder than it has to be. _Ludwig had never been a fan of long goodbyes, especially where people he'd grown attached to were concerned. His eyes settled on Alfred. "You'll need their cousin's name and location." Removing a glove, he undid a few buttons on his trenchcoat and slipped his hand into one of the inner pockets. "Here. I wrote all information I could get out of the children on this piece of paper." He withdrew a small, folded white square of paper and approached the other nation with it, stopping and holding it out when he was almost close enough to touch him. "Unfortunately I don't know which city she lives in or her street address — Arik and Nessa have only met her a few times, and children tend not to remember these things very well — but I'm sure about her name and the state she lives in, Pennsylvania." Alfred took the paper and carefully shoved it down a pants-pocket under his sportcoat to shield it from the most recent misting of rain. "I wrote a physical description of her too, to help you, but it's based purely on Nessa's memory so obviously a few details may be different. She moved to your lands fairly recently…around two years ago, the way Nessa talks. That will hopefully help make her a little easier to track down. I know it's not much to go on, but it's all I have. If you can't find her I trust your judgment in finding a suitable home for these two. They're smart, and still very young and impressionable, so they should adapt to your language and culture fairly easily."

America nodded. "Don't worry, Ludwig, they're in good hands. I like children. And I'm still getting a lot of first-generation immigrants…I actually have quite a few of your people and their descendants, and some of my cities and towns have a strong German influence. So they won't be as out-of-place as you think." He winked.

A sad smile appeared on Ludwig's face. "Thank you. I won't forget this." He turned to Arik and Nessa, who'd been watching them attentively the whole time, no doubt trying to gauge where the conversation was heading. "I know you and Al don't speak the same language, which is going to complicate things, but you can trust him. Like me he's very strong and will protect you. Never let him out of your sight. Obey him as you would me and be good for him."

"Oh Herr Herrmann, we will!" Nessa's voice cracked, and she sprung on her former guardian like a lioness leaping on prey, throwing her arms around his legs.

A little overwhelmed with emotion himself, Ludwig dropped to one knee as Alfred had and allowed her to hug him more properly. Arik came forward, too, as he knew he would, and as they hugged him he enveloped them both in a loose, extremely careful hug of his own.

The tender moment would have stretched on forever if the Goldbergers had had their way: they didn't want to let go, and Ludwig had to, gently as he could, pull away from them and stand up to end it.

"Herr Herrmann, if you don't mind telling us, what's your first name?" Nessa sniffled to hold back her tears.

"Ludwig."

"Ludwig, will we ever see you again?"

_ Probably not, and it's for the best that way. _The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't make his mouth work to say them. These kids had already lost enough; he didn't want to rob them of the hope of seeing him again in the future as well. Time would pass and they would eventually forget about him, but in the meantime they needed something to help keep their spirits up."Who knows?" he answered, feigning a shred of optimism, "The world is a big place and we never know what the future will bring."

"We'll miss you!" Arik declared.

"I'll miss you, too." Ludwig admitted, surprising even himself by how sincerely he meant that. "Be strong. Think of your trip with Al and your new life in America as a big adventure. Now, it's best we part. In case Hauptmann and Weiss are on our trail I need to throw them off so you and Al can leave without problems. Auf Wiedersehen." He gave Alfred a quick little nod to show his respect. "Until we meet again, America."

With that he turned and walked out of the Goldberger children's lives, quickly to make it easier for all of them.


	17. The Council of Six

_**A/N: **Well, I tried my damnedest to have this up before Halloween, but life didn't want to cooperate with me. : ( My apologies. I'll try to get the next chapter up before Christmas, but I make no promises. _

_Many, MANY heartfelt thanks to all my loyal readers and reviewers! You guys ROCK! : )_

_Note: German names are used for countries mentioned in the singular, but not in the possessive or plural. This is just to add a tiny touch of realism while keeping things from getting too confusing._

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><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

**December 5th, 1941**  
><strong>Berlin, Germany<strong>

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><p><em>I <em>_**really**__ hope this goes over better than I think it's going to. _Ludwig thought with a healthy dose of pessimism-laced apprehension, a frown digging at the corners of his mouth. He sat at one end of a fat rectangular wooden table positioned in the center of a large room which contained little else save a well-cared-for black-stone fireplace, on the mantel of which hung an expertly-crafted gold-colored metal swastika. A few paintings hung on the walls — all of them depicting scenes of ancient Romans enjoying the lavish excesses of their nation at the height of its power — along with a high-quality, yet simple clock made of fine materials. The soft grey-white light of a cold, overcast evening poured into the room through the pair of windows situated on the left wall: heavy burgundy drapes that matched the carpet were drawn on the windows opposite. The third-floor room was the highest in this particular building, and, with a medium-sized chandelier brandishing twelve fashionable light-bulbs hanging over the center table and a cheerful fire in the hearth, quite cozy and well-lit.

Frustratingly, the Führer had decided to combine the original conference he'd planned — the one he'd called Ludwig back home for — with Ludwig's request for a private one-on-one meeting, obviously laboring under the assumption that any concerns on his nation spirit's mind needed to be heard by other key members of the High Command as well. While it was always possible that he had done this with genuinely good intentions — perhaps he had felt the combined knowledge and experience of those present would generate a healthy discourse that would ultimately result in a better solution to whatever issues Germany was facing than he alone would be able to provide — Ludwig suspected his boss's motives in this case were more self-serving. For one thing he hadn't even _hinted_ as to the nature of the "concerns" he wished to speak about ( for all Hitler knew they could be extremely private and delicate matters ), and for another Hitler had never been known to put much stock in the thoughts and advice of others, even his closest confidants. This was especially true when it came to the subject of Germany and how best to manage him and his affairs, both on a personal and national/political level: Hitler always felt that he and he alone knew what was best for his country and the "true Germans" he prized so highly.

Whatever the reasons behind the decision, Ludwig had decided on the spot that there was no way he was going to go ahead and campaign for the more humane treatment of the Jews in front of the core of the German High Command when he knew beyond all doubt he would be the only non-anti-Semite in the room. Surrounded by those who shared his deep and irrational hatred — including at least two who wished nothing but death to the Jews — the Führer was less likely to listen to him.

No, the _smart _thing to do was to wait until the conference was over and then get Hitler alone. If pressed before then he could simply throw out an unrelated, lesser concern for the others to address. It wasn't the ideal situation, but he had to be realistic and level-headed here. His Jews and other persecuted minorities were counting on him, as were the innocents of other nations.

He could only pray his Führer was in a good mood.

So far he, Hermann Göring, Reinhard Heydrich, and Heinrich Himmler were present — they were still waiting on Joseph Goebbels and Adolf Hitler. Ludwig was flanked by Göring on his right and Heydrich on his left; Himmler, who had always been a little afraid of Ludwig even before he learned what and who he truly was, sat to the left of Heydrich, leaving the Führer's preferred seat at the opposite end of the table open for him. All of them were impeccably groomed and dressed in their best freshly-ironed uniforms with any medals and other decorations they had earned on proud display: the exception was Göring who had decided on a fancy white-and-gold dress uniform complete with all the trimmings and accessories.

Back straight, arms at his sides, and hands resting in his lap in true military fashion, Ludwig glanced up at the clock for the sixth or seventh time since he'd arrived.

Five minutes past four in the afternoon. The meeting had been scheduled for four o'clock. As usual, the Führer was running late. _It figures. The day he's on time will be the day aliens invade and wipe out all of our enemies for us. _

"You look tense, Herrmann," Göring said conversationally, breaking the near-silence that had gripped the room for the last minute or two, "Something on your mind?"

"A lot is on my mind." Ludwig admitted, betraying more of his anxiety than he was aware of through the inflection in his voice. His eyes shifted to Göring. The overweight, puffy-cheeked Reichsmarschall was smiling at him and seemed to be in high spirits. Undoubtedly he was thinking of all the expensive gifts he was going to receive and the lavish parties he was going to throw this holiday season.

Realizing he'd left himself open for prying, and sensing that Göring was on the verge of asking the question he didn't want anyone here to think too much about, he began speaking again, the question passing his lips readily. "You been seeing much of Gilbert lately?"

As Reichsstatthalter of Prussia, Göring was Gilbert's boss. Though the question could be taken at face-value, what Ludwig was really asking — and what Göring would surely pick up on — was '_Has Gilbert been dying in battle much?_'.

"Not much; only a little here and there. Mostly from ghost-on-ghost action, if you know what I mean." Smirking jovially, he reached over and gave Ludwig a firm clap on the shoulder, one that took him by surprise. "Don't worry Ludwig. I've been taking good care of your brother."

"Ghost on ghost?" Heydrich repeated curiously, "Do you mean to say he's been fighting the Russian Ghost General?"

"Ja."

"Which is actually Russland himself, right?"

"Ja."

"Just out of curiosity, how is that '_ghost on ghost_'? Does Preußen have a reputation of being a 'ghost general' among our enemies?"

"Nein, their favorite nickname for him — or so I hear — is 'The White Demon'. I was referring to his pale complexion, white hair, and red eyes. Gives him a rather ghostlike appearance, don't you think?"

"I wonder why he looks like that," Himmler interjected pensively, eying Ludwig curiously from behind thin-rimmed glasses, "Aren't you nation spirits supposed to resemble the majority of your people in appearance? Beilschmidt's the only albino Prussian I know."

"As a rule, yes, we do tend to," Ludwig explained, "When we're created we're always the same race as the majority of our people, and tend to take after the majority in several other traits as well. But after race we are not necessarily 'given' the most prevalent of _every_ trait, and can inherit any trait so long as it is possible for our race and exists somewhere in our population. It means that roughly 750 years ago, there was at least _one_ albino present _somewhere_ within the ranks or families of the Teutonic Knights."

"Beilschmidt is really that old?" There was a strong element of wonder in Himmler's voice. He stared at Ludwig in rapt fascination.

"Ja. Which is why I think we should be taking more strategic advice from him. Preußen was born from war, _for_ war, and has centuries of battlefield experience."

"As he keeps reminding me," Göring added.

"Something that's bothering me," Heydrich said, frowning and turning to Ludwig, "You mentioned being _created_. Obviously your kind aren't born the way humans are, so what creates you?"

"Magic."

"Who's magic?"

"No one's. It comes from nature, from life itself."

"Do you mean to say it's _sentient?_"

"I don't know." Ludwig admitted quietly, his own frown softening with contemplation. "Sometimes it seems that way." _If it is it can be both kind and cruel, and __**definitely**__ has a sense of humor. _The double 'death-nap' he and Prussia had shared in the same bathroom stall came to mind again. If the magic responsible for the trip wasn't sentient it had happened purely by chance, and if it was it had _definitely_ been done on purpose for giggles; why else would it have arranged them that way?

"Fascinating," Himmler remarked. He and Heydrich had been hanging on every word. "Did you know your blood is different from humans' too? You can only tell under a microscope; the scientists studying the samples you gave say the biological makeup is the same and visibly indistinguishable from human blood, but the cells behave differently. They divide more rapidly, 'communicate' better with one another, and are faster and more efficient than human cells in every way. They are also more resistant to temperature extremes, viruses, and bacteria."

"I'm not surprised." Ludwig said with a hint of pride, "We're incredibly hardy." Neither he nor Gilbert had been very comfortable with the prospect of scientists studying their blood — like all nation spirits they possessed a strong inborn desire to keep the number of people who knew that they weren't human to a minimum, and neither of them saw how any good could possibly come of it — but the Führer had insisted. Even if he hadn't, Ludwig was certain they would have found ways to get it anyway. The relatively few humans who _did _know what nation spirits were and what they were capable of all envied their remarkable regenerative powers, their incredible strength, speed, and endurance, and their youthful immortality. It was only natural they'd turn to science and attempt to replicate the same abilities in themselves. As obsessed as the Nazis were with strengthening and purifying their "master race" of course _they_ would be interested in nation spirits' biology. After all, if they could find a way to somehow transfer even a few of their country's abilities, even in a diluted form, to those they deemed worthy, the Aryans really _would_ be a genetically-superior master race. Naturally the scientists themselves and the High Command would be the first to receive the enhancements, then the SS…

Thankfully it wasn't possible, or so Gilbert and other older nations had assured Ludwig. Not surprisingly, attempts had been made all throughout history to infuse humans with nation spirit powers and/or immortality, or at the very least to use their blood to cure disease and physical ailments. All had failed. The instant it mixed with human blood nation blood lost all of its special properties, and all successful organ or tissue transplants that had been done using a nation spirit donor not only had failed to grant the recipient even one inhuman ability, they had lasted only so long as the nation spirit himself had remained alive: the first 'false death' had caused the transplant to vanish and appear back in its original owner's body in a healed and renewed state.

However, science and medicine _had_ come a long way since then, and Germany secretly worried that someday scientists, be they his or some other country's, were going to get it right and create a strain of superhumans. If that happened…god, he didn't even want to _think_ about the possible ramifications. Knowing human nature it wouldn't lead to anything good or pretty. Hell, he was already seeing for himself just how cruel and merciless human beings could be to one another when one group merely _perceived_ itself as being superior. Nation spirits often abused their powers, it was true, and some of them had been known to do cruel things to individual humans or groups of humans for various reasons, but by virtue of what they were it was impossible for them to hate humanity, and deep down even the most insane and hardhearted of their kind cared deeply about their citizens and wanted the vast majority of them to live long, healthy, happy, and prosperous lives surrounded by the best of everything.

Humans could be psychopaths, but not countries.

And that was precisely why most countries found the concept of humans gaining their abilities, even in a dilute form, so unsettling.

"What factors determine your physical strength?" Now that he'd breached the topic, Himmler couldn't stop the questions.

Germany didn't mind so much: he'd much rather talk about himself and his kind than the usual subjects that were prone to coming up in this environment. "Mostly military size and strength, but also population size and land size."

"So you're one of the strongest of your kind?"

Ludwig stared directly into the other man's eyes, watched with satisfaction as he began to wilt. "One of the strongest, yes."

Himmler's voice took on a slightly higher and definitively more nervous pitch. "So when you picked up that car and threw it 15 meters straight up in the air to prove your nationhood…"

"I could have done more, yes. Russland and I are both strong enough to pick up tanks and throw them at each other, we just don't because their size makes them difficult to handle, it would draw way, _way_ too much attention, and modern weapons are more effective for close-range combat. But we do sometimes run up to enemy tanks and flip them over when no-one is watching. I like to do it over a ditch or rough terrain so it looks like the driver was incompetent."

"Must be nice." Heydrich muttered, jealous.

"It is." Ludwig agreed, happy to get under the skin of the man most responsible for the Einsatzgruppen's evil orders. _Other men may fear you, but I sure as hell don't. _Though they rarely interacted in person, Ludwig knew of the other Obergruppenführer's ruthlessness and fearsome reputation — even Hitler called him "the man with the iron heart". He didn't like him one bit, though so far Heydrich had given him no reason to hold a personal grudge.

"Supernatural strength or not, you would have to have very strong bones to withstand that kind of pressure," Göring mused, "I'm surprised they break as often as they do."

"The secret may be in our muscles," Ludwig said flippantly, "Either that or it's another one of our more magical qualities."

The door opened.

As one the four of them rose and faced it. Goebbels walked in, followed by Hitler.

"Heil mein Führer!" Germany, Göring, Heydrich, and Himmler all greeted and saluted in unison.

_ It's about __**time**__ you got here. _Ludwig thought.

Hitler paused two steps over the threshold, watching them all with a serious expression as Goebbels found his seat, stopped, and turned towards him expectantly, unwilling to sit until given the go-ahead. After a few seconds he nodded.

Everyone dropped their salute and sat down. The Führer turned and shut the door before crossing the room to take his seat. Once he had made himself comfortable in the chair in front of the crackling fire he leaned in and folded his arms casually over the table.

"Deutschland, did you take care of your sniper problem?" Whenever he could use it without sounding even crazier than he already was to those within earshot, the Führer preferred using Germany's true name and rarely called him by his human alias. His tone was calm, almost neutral, but as usual that counted for little. Hitler was notoriously moody, and apart from a few well-known-and-certain triggers it was hard to tell from one day to the next what was going to set him off.

"Affirmative." Ludwig reached into one of his uniform's pants pockets and withdrew a small circle of metal with Russian writing on it that had a short, thick ribbon attached. This he tossed lightly down the table for his boss's inspection. Hitler took it up between his thumb and two fingers and examined it. "I have to give him credit — I haven't had that kind of challenge from a non-nation in a long time. I can see why he was so well-decorated. But rest assured, he's killed his last German."

The sniper in question had not only killed an alarming number of Ludwig's men, he'd killed Ludwig himself twice. Whether or not the man had been aware of this fact before he'd died Ludwig would never know, but it was likely. Hunting him down had been incredibly difficult — for months he had remained always a step ahead, dealing death from places unseen before vanishing like an apparition — but in the end Ludwig had caught up with him and his luck had finally run out. The victory was still fresh, and Ludwig felt a swell of pride showing off his trophy.

Hitler slid the medal back to him over the smooth table surface. "Good. Your new assignment is to join up with Prussia's army in the advance on Moscow. There you will go to whatever extremes necessary to capture Russland. With him as our prisoner the Russians will lose morale and their ability to fight as effectively."

Join the attack on Moscow, Ludwig had expected as much. However, the second part of his boss's orders came as a bit of a surprise. "Where do you want me to put him? Traditional prison cells are out of the question, as are even the most reinforced underground ones because they have to have doors…"

"What about a pit with a thick, steel grate over it?" Göring suggested brightly.

"It would work if it was deep enough," Germany conceded, "At least until he either managed to commit suicide or was freed by one of his nation allies."

"We could put him in a reinforced cell and keep him incapacitated with drugs," Himmler suggested, "That worked with Polen, at least until the doctor made a mistake with the dosing and accidentally killed him."

"That's another possibility, though if I bring in Russland the doctor and his assistants better make _damn sure_ they don't make mistakes because he is _nothing_ like Polen in terms of health, strength, personality, and fighting ability."

"It's true," Goebbels agreed coolly, "From everything I have seen and heard Russland is best described as a sadistic lunatic with superhuman strength and lethal combat skills. We will have to be _very_ careful with him."

"And so we will," Hitler announced boldly, turning to Himmler. "Himmler, I give _you _the task of seeing to it that a special cell is created for our soon-to-be-new-prisoner in Frankreich. _Everything_ is to be reinforced! Doctor Koenig will be in charge of keeping Russland in a persistent weakened, drowsy, and disoriented state; he is to have the same team of assistants as before. The cell's door will be guarded at all times by two heavily-armed SS men. If Russland ever manages to shake off the drugs' effects their instructions are to incapacitate him with non-lethal shots through small holes created in the door."

"Your orders are clear, my Führer."

"You have one week to get everything ready." Pleased with the plan, he turned his sights back on Ludwig. "Deutschland, you will notify me at once when you've captured Russland and personally deliver him to his cell."

_ As opposed to what? _Ludwig thought, _Not reporting my greatest victory and turning the unconscious body of one of the most powerful nation spirits on Earth over to humans for transport_? No other arrangement even made _sense_. "Affirmative."

It was a good plan. It had its weaknesses, sure, and they would all have to be careful every step of the way, but the rewards outweighed the risks.

The hardest part was going to be actually capturing Ivan. Braver and rasher than most of his soldiers, he aggressively attacked and pursued enemy countries the moment he saw them, which would help — Ludwig certainly wouldn't have to spend months tracking down him like a rare and elusive wild animal the way he had the sniper — but he always fought to the death, meaning that he would have to hit him on the head hard enough to knock him out but not hard enough to kill him, and that was a lot easier said than done. There was also the problem of his soldiers interfering. Even if they thought their precious 'Ghost General' was dead no way in hell were they going to just sit back on their asses and let a German run off with his body.

The Führer moved his arms apart, laced his fingers, and began rubbing his thumbs against each other. "Now that _that_ is out of the way, we move on to our next order of business. Our beloved Fatherland wishes to express some concerns he has. About what I do not know."

The entire table looked to Germany with mounting interest and curiosity.

Hitler continued. "Do enlighten us."

Germany took a deep breath; his heart quickened inside his chest.

This was it.

He'd been waiting for this moment…and dreading it.

Was it really the best decision to wait until he had his boss alone to speak up for the Jews? Fifteen minutes ago it had seemed like the surest strategy, but now, looking at the men gathered before him, he wasn't so sure.

If he spoke with the Führer alone it was possible that he might persuade him to grant the Jews some leniency. However, assuming that did indeed happen, the rest of the High Command would just try to persuade him to change everything back to the way it had been the moment he told them to implement the changes. They wouldn't out-and-out defy him, naturally, but it wasn't like they were going to have a tough time convincing a fellow virulent anti-Semite who already shared their core beliefs and ideology to jump back on the extreme-cruelty-to-Jews bandwagon, especially when, in all likelihood, he would have given in to Ludwig with some hesitation anyway. The odds of this _not_ happening were vanishingly small.

On the other hand, if he raised the issue here and now, in front of everyone, he could counter the others' arguments, try at the very least to set the record straight and inject some sanity and logic into the group if he failed to move their hearts towards mercy and compassion.

Which choice was the right one?

Would it even matter either way?

"What's wrong?" Goebbels inquired, a dark little smile slithering across his thin, weasel-like face. "Russians have your tongue?"

Ludwig couldn't stand it anymore, he _had_ to act _now_. His Jews' lives hung in the balance: his Nazis' very souls.

He took a deep breath, braced himself for the inevitable shit-storm. Then he opened his mouth and spoke, summoning up the most respectful tone and all the tact and diplomacy he could muster. "My Führer, our Jewish labor forces are suffering terribly in the ghettos and work camps. They have no clean water, very little food, and no adequate protection from the elements, especially freezing winter temperatures. They are forced to work until they are incapable of working any longer, at which point they are killed immediately if they are lucky. The actions of the SS in these places are heinous. They are extremely cruel and bloodthirsty and look for every opportunity to brutally beat and murder innocent men, women, and children, which they do without feeling any guilt or remorse. I very strongly suggest disbanding the SS Einsatzgruppen and putting less sadistic men in charge of the ghettos and work camps in occupied zones. I also very strongly suggest — at a _minimum_ — providing clean water, increasing food rations by two-hundred percent, and either providing more warm coats and blankets or lessening restrictions on heating, because as it is now I would not wish these living conditions on my battlefield enemies."


	18. Defiance

**Chapter 18**

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><p>For maybe two seconds, the room was silent save for the soft crackling of the fire.<p>

Just as Ludwig had predicted, his words had a strong and immediate visible effect on almost everyone present: Himmler's mouth hung open slightly, his expression temporarily frozen in a comical mixture of surprise and unease. Heydrich's face twisted with anger and disgust. Göring gave him a look which indicated that he couldn't quite believe he was even _making_ such suggestions and feared a harsh reprimand might be in store for the man he often loudly and proudly proclaimed to be his favorite general, while Goebbels, in stark contrast to the others, wore an annoyingly smug little smile and, strangely, appeared to be rather pleased with the situation.

Only Hitler remained unreadable.

Ludwig's heart skipped a beat.

Was his boss feeling a twinge of remorse? Was he actually considering showing a little mercy to the group he professed nothing but hatred for? _Come on Adolf, it's not like I'm asking you to restore their rights or property, allow them back inside my borders, or even stop using them as slave labor._

A low, dark chuckle rumbled in Hitler's throat, and his hopes withered.

"Of course they're suffering, as they _should_! For everything they've done to us — to _you_ — Hell itself could not punish them enough!" Having made his feelings on the matter perfectly clear, the Führer continued in a more blasé tone. "Everything concerning the labor camps, ghettos, and Einsatzgruppen will stay as it is." Now that his glee over hearing details of the Jews' suffering had passed his mood changed almost instantly. He glared daggers into Ludwig's eyes. "Don't tell me you've actually…_forgiven_" he spat the word as though the very sound of it offended him, "those lying, scheming Bolsheviks. Those filthy traitors who damn near destroyed us!"

"Don't worry, I haven't." Ludwig said coolly, his gaze as strong as steel. "After all, how can I forgive someone for crimes and betrayals they never committed?" Before his boss or anyone else had any time to react he quickly added, in a slightly louder voice "I know that all of you hate the Jews, and I know why. But that doesn't change the fact that nearly all of your allegations against them are completely false. The-"

"_Outrageous!_" Goebbels stormed.

Ludwig continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. "Jews never hated us until we gave them reason to…"

"How _**dare**_ you-"

He raised his voice and spoke over Heydrich, keeping his tone as calm and factual as he could. "…and I lost the Great War for two main reasons. One, I had a very disorganized and confused mess of a government that made one bad decision after another, _**lied**_ to my soldiers about what to expect on the frontlines, and did not take my citizens' domestic hardships or feelings into consideration. We ended up trying to do too much too soon and stretched ourselves too thin. Two, my allies and I didn't communicate, coordinate, or work very well together and misunderstandings happened _way_ too often. The Jews didn't have anything to do with it. In fact, many, _many_ of them fought loyally and bravely for me as a nation and alongside me as a brother-in-arms."

"THAT ISN'T _**TRUE**_!" Hitler exploded out of his chair in a roaring, spittle-laden fury and slammed both hands violently down upon the table, causing Himmler to jump a few centimeters and jerk away from the hardwood as though a large bucket of venomous snakes had been loosed onto it. "I fought in that war as well! We had _**every**_chance of winning! _**Every**_ chance!" His cheeks were rapidly reddening; his voice cracked with emotion. "If it weren't for all the Jews and Marxists preaching _revolution-_" The word was stressed in a wet, savage hiss. "-and undermining our every effort we would have won! How can you not see this?! They are trying to annihilate us, to…to seize control of Deutschland — of _**you**_ — the way they did Russland, Britannien, and Amerika!"

_ What the __**hell**__?! _"My Führer," Keeping his own voice down and his tone halfway civil, and resisting the urge to point out just how mind-numbingly _stupid_ and _ridiculous_ that claim was, took every ounce of willpower Ludwig possessed. "I'm pretty sure that neither Churchill nor Roosevelt are Jews. I'm _dead-certain _Stalin isn't…"

Hitler raised his right hand, made a fist, and slammed it down on the table. "YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WHAT I MEAN!" he yelled, literally shaking with rage. "It doesn't matter whether the heads of state themselves are Jewish when the Jews are running their countries irrespective of this, with or without their knowledge! They're the reason behind Russia's communism and the rampant greed and corruption in Britannien and Amerika! _Think_! Use that brain of yours! Every terrible thing that has happened in recorded history has a Jewish conspiracy at its core! They try to cover it up, try to frame others, but anyone with intelligence can see through their lies! I don't know who the hell you've been listening to, but their information is wrong, wrong, WRONG!"

Ludwig's eyes narrowed. "I haven't been listening to anyone. I think for myself and my observations are my own. And with all due respect," There was the hint of a growl in his voice. "The atrocities I just mentioned — the Jews are not doing it to themselves. There are no Jews on the Einsatzgruppen, nor have I ever seen or heard of them kidnapping, separating, and brutally murdering entire families en masse. They don't torture people, starve them to death."

"I don't understand," Goebbels said quickly, turning to Hitler. His smug little smirk had evaporated. "How can he possibly believe the Jews are innocent? No one forced him to join the National Socialist Party, and he's been clear on our stance from the very beginning."

"Treason," Heydrich seethed, "That's what it is, treason! If he weren't an immortal freak of nature I would say he should be taken out and shot!"

Ludwig whirled on him. "By definition that makes _you_ guilty of treason, since _I am your country_." His tone was acidic. Quickly, _very_ quickly, he turned his eyes and attention back to Hitler and stood up. "And to answer Goebbels's question, it's true, I joined the party by my own free will shortly before the Beer Hall Putsch, and I did so behind Cuno's back. I joined because I agreed with Hitler's ideas on how my government should be run and I shared his vision for my future, a future in which all of my citizens had jobs, my economy was thriving, laws were strictly enforced, and my military was not only rearmed but made more powerful than ever before, powerful enough to allow us to regain our former glory and take back everything we lost, and then some! I wanted the best of everything for my people, the very highest quality of life, and I saw that happening with Hitler in power. As for the Jews…" He paused just long enough to draw in a breath, and a faint glimmer of hope ignited within him once more as he realized that his fellow Nazis _were_, at least, listening. They didn't look very happy to be doing it, but for the moment no one was rushing to interrupt him. That was a good sign.

"I never believed all the propaganda about them, and I never hated them." Two sets of blue eyes — one light and one dark — locked resolutely upon one another, charging the air between them with tension. "I understand why you did it," Ludwig continued, his voice a tad quieter than it had been moments before. "You needed a common enemy to unite the people against, a scapegoat to blame for all the hard times we were going through. Throughout history that's always been a popular tactic among those aspiring to power, and it usually works. Well, you're in power now, and we're doing well in the war and at home. We don't need a scapegoat anymore —"

Goebbels cut in. "Your theory is absurd. Insane." The arrogance with which he pronounced this made Ludwig's already-heated blood boil. "Everything we say is true, and the evidence is literally _everywhere_. You're simply refusing to see it. For some reason you insist on standing here arguing with us over the fate of the Jews as though they were your own citizens. Why? Why do you care what happens to them? Even if you believe all that nonsense you just spewed you must concede that they are still a dirty, inferior race that we'd be much better off without."

"Firstly," Ludwig growled, fixing the Minister of Propaganda with a severe look, "It is _not_ nonsense, and if you truly believe it is all that means is that you've come to believe your own lies. Very little of your so-called 'evidence' against the Jews is actually evidence at all, and you don't even agree with the Führer on the question of whether they're capitalists or communists. Obviously if they're all unified in some great conspiracy to take over the world then they can't be both at the same time, now can they?" He took a quick breath.

"Secondly, this race business. I'm all for selective breeding to make my people stronger, smarter, and healthier, and while I don't personally think it's as important, I don't mind the party's fixation with blonde hair and blue eyes — they _are_ beautiful. But this doesn't mean we should treat everyone who isn't a member of our perfect Aryan race worse than vermin solely because they weren't lucky enough to be born to the right parents. Why do I care about the Jews? Two reasons. One, _Goebbels_, a lot of them _do_ also happen to be German citizens, or at least they were until you and the others stripped them of that. But even if the law and the party don't recognize them as being Germans, _I still do_." Through with Goebbels for now, his gaze swept around the table as he spoke, not lingering on any one man for too long to make it clear that he was addressing everyone.

"What all of you seem to keep forgetting is that I am the living embodiment of _**Deutschland**_, NOT the Nazi party! I love my people, _**all**_ of them. I don't _agree_ with all of them or necessarily support the choices they make, and to be honest I am guilty of having favorites like every other nation spirit, but I do _love_ all of them. Aryans, non-Aryans, the fit, the healthy, the sick, the mentally ill, the physically handicapped, heterosexuals, homosexuals, Christians, atheists, Nazis, Jews…so long as they are German they are part of me, and I am part of them. When they are tortured and killed on a large enough scale it manifests as real, physical pain in my human body, same as when my towns and cities are bombed. And when an emotion is intense enough and widespread enough within my borders I feel it even if, as an individual, I would have no reason to. The families you exiled from my borders? The ones who got treated like shit by their neighbors? They weren't just Jews, they were _my_ Jews. At the time I thought it was a small price to pay for greatness, but if I had known then what I know now I would have said something.

"Which brings us to Reason Two:" His eyes came to rest on Hitler, who, like him, was still standing. Though the other man was silent, it was clear from his angry frown and the way his whole face had darkened to an almost scarlet hue that none of this was sitting well with him; it was amazing he hadn't erupted again already. Still, Ludwig pressed on it that same serious, impassioned voice. "The only people we should be killing are enemy soldiers, insurgents, and those who pose a real threat to German lives. Deliberately and systematically taking the lives of unarmed, innocent civilians isn't just wrong, it's _evil_. It's also a massive waste of ammunition and manpower, which is another reason to stop doing it. As for the ghettos and labor camps, I _**do**_ support foreign slave labor. But not like this. Not under hellish conditions where people are worked literally until they drop from exhaustion with very little food to eat and only dirty water to drink, where everyone goes around dirty and cold with their bones sticking out and barely anything to wear, where medicine and soap are both scarce, the overcrowding is unbearable, and dead bodies are left to decay in the streets for days. Where families are split up and forced to watch their loved ones die while cruel assholes in SS uniforms do everything they can to show them the _true_ meaning of suffering, all in my name."

"They are NOT your people!" Heydrich flared up, "Even the ones which you think used to be-"

"I don't _care_!" Ludwig snapped, suddenly savage, turning and driving his fist into the table centimeters from the other Obergruppenführer's right hand.

Eyebrows flying up, Heydrich jerked back and retracted his arms into his body so fast it was a wonder the force of it didn't send him over in his chair. His pale blue eyes, wider and a lot less hostile than they had been moments before, were frozen on the mess of splinters and buckled wood rippling up and outward from under the nation's clenched hand, a hand which rested in the center of a depression that penetrated halfway through the table.

"It's _torture_ and _they don't deserve it!_" They were eye-level now, Ludwig hunched over with his fist-arm straight along the table and the other bent a little so that his open palm rested on the dark surface. One corner of his mouth was drawn back in a slight snarl; his icy irises burned with ferocity.

"_**ENOUGH!**_"

Germany shot back up to his full height and whirled to face his boss.

Hitler was livid. "How dare you, how _**DARE**_ you threaten one of us!"

"I wasn't threatening him!" Ludwig fired back, making a strong effort to take as much of the heat out of his tone as he could. "He just pissed me off! Look, I'm not expecting miracles here. I'm not asking you to clear the Jews' name, let them back into my borders, restore their property, or even treat them as second and third-class citizens of occupied nations. I'm not even asking you to stop splitting families up, though I'd love it if you did. All I am asking is for you to please, _please_ show them a bit of compassion and mercy. At the very least double their current food rations, give them clean water, give them what they need to stay warm through the winter and make it illegal for the SS and everyone else to beat and shoot them unless they have a good reason, meaning one that _isn't_ based purely on hatred. We can do these things and _still_ make a large profit off them. Stop the massacres. I don't care what you decide to do with those unfit for work so long as it doesn't involve torture or murder."

In reality the Jews and others working as slave labor needed significantly more than double the amount of food they were currently receiving in order to creep into and remain in even the lower zone of healthy weight, but seeing as how Hitler's heart apparently pumped cold, black fluid instead of blood where they were concerned Ludwig thought it best to start small with the foot-in-the-door technique. If the man could be persuaded to accept what he was asking for now it would be easier to get him to accept even smaller requests in the future, building on what he already had little by little until eventually the conditions in the ghettos and labor camps up where they should be.

The Führer's expression turned deadly. "Are you giving me orders?!"

"Nein!" The accusation caught Ludwig off-guard. "All I'm doing is pleading for mercy on the Jews' behalf. I'm the only one who can without being killed, the only one with both the opportunity and the desire to speak with you about it." His face softened, and when he next opened his mouth his speech slowed and his voice took on a more tender quality. "Bitte, mein Führer. _Bitte?_ I would be very grateful."*****

"Very grateful?" Hitler howled, "You should _already _be very grateful!"

_ Oh. Fuck._

"You have ME to thank for your power and thriving economy! I gave your citizens jobs, a reason to be **proud** of themselves, and of **you**! Under my leadership you're taking back lands that were wrongfully taken from you — even taking new lands! And this is how you repay me, by whining about the Jews?! Compassion is **weakness**, Ludwig. Mercy is a betrayal of nature. Nature…think of nature! The wolf doesn't spare the lamb, he _kills _him, kills him so that he himself may live and thrive. He kills the fox's family so that there will be more food for his own. If he went around having 'mercy' and showing 'compassion' he would starve to death, that is if a bigger wolf or predator didn't kill him first! Survival of the fittest! The world belongs to the strong — I've heard you yourself say it!"

"We can be strong without being cruel!" Ludwig argued, a faint sweat breaking over his face, "And predators kill prey and competitors because, as you said, they _have_ to in order to survive. We do not _have _to kill innocent people in order to survive, or even to thrive. No matter how many times you and Goebbels insist otherwise it's not us or them!"

"Oh sure, give them nothing to fear and watch them walk all over us." Heydrich snorted sarcastically, "Great plan. Wonder why we didn't think of it sooner."

"I didn't say we had to treat them like friends!" Ludwig retorted, shooting a venomous glare at Heydrich. "We can keep them intimidated without needlessly beating and slaughtering them! We lay down the laws, inform them of these laws, and punish violators accordingly. They don't violate any laws, they don't get punished. Period." He turned back to Hitler. "Compassion is **not **weakness. It's what keeps us human!"

"Says the creature who _isn't_ human." Goebbels gibed.

"I'm more human than you!"

"_**ENOUGH!**_" Hitler roared again, red-violet face glistening with sweat. He gestured wildly with his hands. "I've had quite enough of this madness! Deutschland, I command you to _sit down_!"

Though he didn't really want to, Ludwig did as he was told.

Only when his nation was planted back in his chair did Hitler follow suit. "He's delusional." His tone was odd: marginally calmer, but ridden with frustration and flavored with sorrow, as though he were dealing with a rebellious teenager who insisted on doing stupid, dangerous things and couldn't be reasoned with. "Damn Jewish Bolsheviks — look how they're corrupting our beloved Deutschland! He will never be right in the head until we eliminate the cause of his disease!"

_ "What?!_"Ludwig's eyes went wide with surprise. "You can't be serious! Now you're blaming _my compassion _on the Jews?!"

"It is a Jewish invention, a Jewish weakness." Goebbels said with false sympathy.

This was too much; Ludwig could only keep his tongue in check for so long, especially when being patient and diplomatic was getting him absolutely _nowhere_ with these men. His eyes narrowed. "You're fucking insane, Goebbels. If the Jews are so wicked and corrupt — as you have always, _always _claimed — then how the hell can compassion be their invention _or_ their weakness? These things are opposites! If by this you mean that _some _are corrupt and _some _are compassionate then you are admitting that they are _not_ all the same, even though you've spent years saying they are."

Rather than reply, Goebbels merely turned to Hitler with a sad, knowing look, and sighed. "You're right, the so-called 'German' Jews _are_ the cause of this. The fact that our nation is behaving the way he is speaks for itself. After all, his thoughts, opinions, and personality are nothing but a composite of the thoughts, opinions, and personalities of everyone living inside his borders, whether they have any right to be there or not. I don't know why the Jewish aspects are getting vastly over-represented, but he can't very well continue to reflect a subset of his population once it utterly ceases to exist, now can he?"

"This is true." Hitler perked up.

"No it isn't!" Ludwig countered vehemently, "I'm not just a country, I'm an _individual_ _too_, with my own independent thoughts, feelings, and personality! I was born with a conscience and the ability to empathize and I would be this way even if no Jew had ever set foot in my lands! I am _not _sick in the head! Compassion is _not_ a mental illness and mercy is _not_ weakness! _Destroying all the Jews in my borders will not make me as heartless as you!_"

"Are you sure about that?" the Führer spat suddenly and unexpectedly, "I command you to answer truthfully!"

"Am I sure about what?"

"That your personality cannot be altered."

Ludwig winced. "Nein." The word formed in his throat and rushed over his lips against his will.

"Is it possible to make you hate the Jews as we do? I command you to answer truthfully!"

_ Oh Scheiße! OhScheißeohScheißeohScheiße! I didn't think you would think to do this! And with these questions! _

It was like a multiple-car pile-up on an icy road at the bottom of a hill: each collision made the subsequent ones worse and worse.

Though his countenance showed only the faintest vestige of unease, inside Ludwig was panicking.

He didn't want to truthfully answer this, he really, _really_ didn't.

Too bad. All on its own his larynx started to produce sound, and his mouth moved even though he tried to force it to stay shut. All he could do was throw his right hand up and whisper the answer as quietly as he could into it, coughing immediately after the last word was out in a further attempt to disguise it.

"Ooo, someone has secrets!" Goebbels said giddily. He rubbed his hands together eagerly, his face splitting with a sadistic little grin. "Do tell!"

"Deutschland, I command you to repeat the answer to the question I just asked loudly enough and clearly enough to be heard and understood. Right now."

"I honestly don't know." Ludwig admitted, a hint of fear in his voice. He wanted to excuse himself, to get up and leave, but he knew it would be futile. His boss wasn't going to let him go anywhere. Not when they were in the middle of such an interesting conversation.

He was stuck.

Stuck in a very uncomfortable, precarious, compromised position.

Still, he wasn't helpless — he could still steer the conversation back into safer waters, take Hitler's mind off of interrogating him.

He opened his mouth to speak…

…only to be cut off by Hitler before he could make the first sound. "Reinhard, I want the Final Solution implemented immediately. Call together a conference of all the administrative leaders of the appropriate departments. Outline your new and improved system, explain how it will work. Ensure their total cooperation."

"Jawohl mein Führer." Heydrich smiled cruelly. "I will do so with great pleasure."

Though he had been speaking to Heydrich, Hitler's eyes had remained on Germany the whole time. "Don't worry, my nation, we'll cure you. Purify your blood _and_ your mind. Make you stronger than ever before."

Absolutely everything about that exchange sent a chill down Ludwig's spine; there was something he didn't know. Some dark and terrible secret he hadn't been let in on. He had a strong feeling he knew what it was, and an equally as strong feeling he wasn't going to like the answer to the question he was about to ask. "What's the 'Final Solution'?"

Heydrich pounced on the chance to answer. "We're going to kill your precious Jews," he announced, his tone taunting and full of dark glee, "_All_ of them. All the ones in Europe, and later the world! As we speak construction has already begun on the first extermination camp: these little beauties will contain gas chambers allowing us to destroy hundreds of Jews at a time — thousands in a day — all without having to fire a single shot! The entire process will be far more efficient than everything we've been doing so far."

"And far cleaner, too." Himmler added, "Those open-air shootings are messy affairs."

_ Oh. My. God. _

Why did he have to be right? _Why?_

Why the hell couldn't his fellow High Commanders surprise him in a _good_ way for once?

A week ago, before the Ponary revelation and his tour of the Vilnius ghetto, Ludwig would have been horror-shocked beyond words by the news. But those two experiences, combined with his present experience of trying and failing to procure for the Jews even the most basic necessities of life and the ability to go about their day-to-day routine without having to worry about being brutally beaten or shot for the tiniest real or imagined mistakes by hate-crazed, bloodthirsty guards had jaded him to the point where he had actually started worrying that the rest of the High Command might try something like this several minutes before Hitler had first roused his suspicion. Now that suspicion had been confirmed, and he felt…god, he couldn't even begin to describe it.

Disgust, sorrow, disappointment, helplessness, fury…the emotions swirled together violently inside of him, every one of them raw and potent. He stared at his fellow Nazis in sick disbelief, blonde eyebrows furrowing gently at his nasion and pale lips parting just enough for some of his teeth to show. His eyes were soft with concern.

"Look on the bright side, Ludwig," Göring said consolingly, speaking up for the first time in a long while, "At least it'll be quick for them. Well, most of them, anyway."

_ And that's supposed to make me feel better?! _

Incredible.

"_Nein!_" Ludwig rocketed up out of his seat. "My Führer please, reconsider!" His tone was frantic. Desperate. "We can exile them instead — I know several nations that would be willing to take them off our hands! We can make it so that no German ever has to look at one ever again-"

"NEIN!" Hitler bellowed, "I want them **DEAD**! They've been a plague on this earth long enough, and if we are stupid enough — _weak _enough — to allow them to survive they will join enemy militaries and rebel factions and fight against us! This is _**not **_open for discussion, and I command you not to raise the issue with me ever, _**ever**_ again! It is time for you to rid yourself of that damned Jewish influence diseasing your mind and start thinking like a _true _German!"

"Don't lecture _**ME**_ on true Germans, you Austrian bastard!" Ludwig raged, the last of his restraint finally snapping, "_I am the most German thing in existence!_"

"SHUTUPSHUTUP I COMMAND YOU TO _**SHUT UP**_!" Hitler's fury was deafening. He looked like a mad bull about to charge a matador: deep grooves distorted his forehead, his eyes bulged, and his mouth was warped with the ugliest scowl Ludwig had seen in a long time. His damp skin, which had been slowly paling, was almost fully back to its former red hue. "You ungrateful, whining, insolent nation! You'd turn against me, a man who has only ever helped you and praised you, who stayed loyally in your service when others abandoned and betrayed you, who made you strong and great — who loves you more than anything else in this world and would have _died _for you — in defense of _them_?! Reinhard is right — you should be taken out and shot!" He couldn't keep his hands still; his whole body was trembling. "I am your savior, I am your _**Führer**_! Being what you are does _not_ give you the right to defy me or speak to me in such a manner, and this outburst will cost you dearly!"

_ Bring it on. _Ludwig thought defiantly_, _his expression stern and unmoved, _Go ahead and make an enemy out of your greatest asset. See how well that works for you. _He'd crossed a dangerous line and he knew it, but the damage had already been done and there was no way in hell was he going to degrade himself and nullify the stand he'd made by apologizing.

No, whatever his boss had in mind, he would face it bravely and with dignity.

"How will you punish him?" Himmler asked, "A demotion in rank? Confinement? Torture?"

"I know just the thing," Heydrich said ominously, "Since he loves Jews so much he should be forced to kill some. How about an entire family of German Jews? That should pierce his bleeding heart, teach him to show you some respect."

_ Nein! _Coldness shot through Ludwig's chest like an icy wind, chilling and contracting everything inside. Breath hitching in his throat, his whole body tensed, every muscle-fiber charged and brimming with unspent energy, energy which begged to be released.

He wouldn't.

He _couldn't._

Not an innocent family!

"I agree." Hitler's reply. Ruthless.

_** NEIN! **_Ludwig couldn't stand it anymore: the two words struck his consciousness like a lit match striking gasoline, and the maelstrom of emotions raging inside him exploded. In the blink of an eye cold horror, sorrow, and revulsion turned to fiery, murderous rage. Rage directed at one person above all others, the sadistic sociopath who had conceived and suggested his shockingly cruel, wicked punishment.

_ I'll kill you for this!_

The others got no warning at all.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was still standing, the nation spirit jerked backward as though he'd just received a nasty shock from an electrical fence, sending his chair sliding across the carpet. Twisting deftly around the square corner of the table, he reached Heydrich in perhaps two seconds, his right arm shooting out and hooking the other Obergruppenführer under the chin. Heydrich had been rising to his feet and had already made it halfway up when he tore him away from his chair and clamped him powerfully against his chest in an esophagus-crushing embrace.

For Ludwig, the next few seconds went by in a blur as several things happened at once. He heard the room erupt into chaos with the clamor of frenzied movement, chairs being knocked over, and a surprisingly high-pitched squeal of terror. Felt all ten of his victim's fingers dig mercilessly into his sleeved arm as he stepped back and swung around to face him while simultaneously sliding his right arm down into position.

"I COMMAND-"

Heydrich's chin was cupped firmly in his hand. He no longer had him in a stranglehold, but it didn't matter because he was literally moments away from death. Their eyes met, and Ludwig could see himself reflected on the other man's large pupils: his visage was truly frightening.

"YOU TO-"

With his left hand he seized the appropriate side of the blonde head from behind, driving his short fingernails through hair and into flesh.

"STOP!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

*****Please, my leader, _please?_

The next chapter is already mostly done! I just need write it an ending and polish it up, and it will be ready in about a week or so. Originally it was going to be part of this chapter ( which is why this chapter took a lot longer than I thought it would ), but I decided yesterday that it had gotten too big, and that not only could it actually be split into two chapters, given the content it would actually make more sense to do it that way.

If you have any questions about my headcanon, the plot, the characters, why I chose to characterize someone a certain way, etc. please feel free to ask, and I'll answer them in the next chapter's A/N. That is, if the chapter itself doesn't end up answering them first. As always, your insights and opinions on the story and my writing in general are also welcome.

The way it's sketched out in my head, this fic will _**most likely **_end up having 22 chapters, with a 23rd possible depending on how long some of them get.

Will Ludwig be able to get out of his cruel punishment, or has he dug himself in too deep? Visit the poll in my profile to cast your vote, then if you'd like you can say why you voted the way you did in a review. : )


	19. Deadly Adversaries

** Chapter 19**

* * *

><p>Neurons fired, his brain ordering his arms and hands to shove and pull in a single coordinated, vicious move that would break Heydrich's neck. But instead of doing what he wanted, his muscles at once slackened and refused to respond.<p>

_ Nein!_

The final word of Hitler's command had come just in time.

Fueled by adrenalin, Heydrich easily tore free of the dead weight of his would-be assassin's non-responsive arms and hands and took a few hasty, stumbling steps backward. He immediately reached up to rub his throat. Though the crushing pressure on his windpipe had been removed, his pallid face was shot with pain and his breath came rapidly.

_ Comeoncomeon! MOVE! Fucking magic! _Ludwig fought to budge even a pinkie. The order had been to 'stop' — for how long had not been specified. Usually with unspecified timeframes the effect lasted about a minute, but maybe, just maybe this time…

"Deutschland, I command you not to hurt him again, _EVER_."

_ Of course, _Ludwig thought bitterly_, Of course you have to protect him. So much for that._ Though the magical paralysis did not, thankfully, extend to any other parts of his body ( the magic had 'known' that Hitler wanted him to stop what he was doing, and what he had been doing he had been doing with his arms and hands ), he nonetheless remained rooted to the spot, his countenance cold and deadly serious.

"Heinrich, you can come out. Ludwig can't hurt you. I won't allow it." Hitler sounded exasperated.

"My apologies, I…I forgot you could do that." Himmler replied meekly.

Now that he looked Ludwig saw that, apart from himself, Heydrich, and Göring — the latter of which was only just now starting to get up — Himmler was the only one not seated: the noises he'd heard earlier had been him jumping out of his chair and hiding under the table.

Pathetic.

"Ah, so it was _your_ scream I heard." he said snidely, watching with dark satisfaction as his bespectacled superior crawled out from his hiding place. "For a moment I thought one of Goebbels's daughters had gotten into the room."

The insulting remark fetched a little chuckle from both Goebbels and Göring.

"There's no shame in being afraid of someone who can disable a tank with a single punch!" Himmler huffed indignantly, rising from the floor and readjusting his glasses. Traces of hysteria lingered in his voice. "Just look what he did to Reinhard! He'd be dead if the Führer hadn't intervened!"

"Speaking of which, are you alright?" Göring had passed around the table — and Ludwig — to stand next to the other man, who was still panting a little and massaging his throat. His voice and expression were touched with concern. "Shall we call a doctor?"

"Nein, I'll be alright," Heydrich grumbled, "No thanks to that _**beast!**_" His eyes jumped to Ludwig and narrowed fiercely, his face twisting into a mask of pure, blazing hatred.

"_You're_ the one who wants me to murder my own people," Ludwig pointed out calmly, his tone menacing, "I thought I'd start with you." One corner of his mouth twitched up slightly in a sadistic little smirk.

"That is _**enough!**_" Hitler slammed both fists down on the table, drawing the immediate and undivided attention of everyone in the room. "Deutschland, not only are you going to kill those German Jews, you just earned yourself a place in the Einsatzgruppen! For-for _three months!_"

Ludwig's eyebrows shot up, his mood and entire demeanor changing in an instant. "_What?! _My Führer I-"

"I command you not to speak until you leave this room, and I command you not to leave this room until I tell you you can!"

The rapid-fire orders slammed Ludwig's mouth shut.

The Führer continued in a calmer, but still less-than-amiable tone. "Gentlemen, you are about to see why nation spirits are not the Master race."

"Or species." Goebbels added helpfully.

Mind coursing with dark, violent thoughts, Germany stood his ground and waited for his boss to abuse his power over him. There was nothing else he _could_ do, not without exacerbating his already profoundly cruel punishment.

He'd gone too far.

Way too far.

How sweetly, blissfully naïve he'd been to think that something as simple as physical torture and/or humiliation were the worst that could happen to him. Frowning sternly, Hitler stared straight into his country's eyes. "I command you to break one of your fingers!"

_ Here we go. Let's get this over with. _Since a finger had not been specified, he chose the pinkie on his left hand, the one he would miss the least. Wrapping the fingers of his right hand firmly around the digit, he pulled it back from the other fingers on that hand, braced himself, and quickly snapped it.

The pain was intense, but not unbearable. Nowhere near unbearable. Like many bad things in life, frequent exposure to pain created an increased capacity to handle it, and Ludwig had been forced to suffer though — and soldier through — far worse than broken fingers in his time. If his boss had been hoping to draw a cry from him, or see his fair Aryan features contort with agony, he was in for a sore disappointment. Wincing only in the first second or two following the break, Ludwig gritted his teeth and feigned stoic indifference.

_ Are you done yet? _Letting his wounded hand fall to his side, he fixed his tormentor with another steely gaze, his expression ruthlessly austere.

For the moment he didn't miss being able to talk. Words couldn't help him, not now. Even if by some miracle he found himself willing and able to fake a believable neutral, pleading, or friendly tone his boss wouldn't listen to him anyway, even if he pointed out that removing him from the frontlines for even just _one _month would hurt the German war effort in a very real, measurable way. Not only would his soldiers lack his strong leadership, battlefield experience, strategic prowess, combat skills, and firepower, it wasn't as if Stalin was going to pull Russia, _his_ strongest soldier, off the frontlines to make things even, a glaring detail which any other boss — even Goebbels, probably — would take into account when devising a punishment for him. But Hitler had made it acid-clear through the comments and arguments he'd made earlier that he operated outside of logic and could not be reasoned with. He was a danger not only to communists and Jews, but to the very people he claimed to care about.

Germany wanted to kill him.

That he was literally incapable of even making an attempt frustrated him greatly.

"I command you to break another finger."

_ Sure, why not? _He didn't even bother to look at his hand this time, instead keeping his eyes trained resolutely on Hitler's as he took up the finger next to his ruined pinkie. The sickening crack of a small bone snapping sounded out once more, and this time the wince that followed was a bit stronger and longer-lived. He couldn't help it: a high tolerance for pain wasn't the same as immunity to it, and though he was doing his level best to keep the façade of a statue and deny his boss and fellow High Commanders the pleasure of seeing him in _any_ discomfort at all, he hadn't reached the point where he could do that yet, not with broken digits at least.

"Now break the other three on that hand, all at once."

_Fuck you. You didn't say the magic word. _Rather than obey Ludwig continued stare intensely into his boss's eyes, as though his own were twin soldering guns which could burn holes in the other man's retinas with their red-hot tips.

Hitler realized his mistake at once. "I _command _you!"

_ This is going to hurt. _Willing his hands to stay still was useless. Taking in a few slow, calming, semi-deep breaths, Ludwig reached for the fingers in question, strategically enclosing all within his palm. _I will _**not**_give them the pleasure, I will _**not** _give them the pleasure… _The thought played in tireless, defiant loops in his mind, strengthening his will and determination.

_ Snap! _

It was over in an instant: terrible pain exploded through his joints, merging with the throbbing ache of his pinkie and ring-finger to electrify his entire hand with agony. Stifling the urge to cry out, he screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, producing only a sharp hiss as he sucked in a mouthful of air through his teeth.

It wouldn't be this bad in a minute. The initial receiving of the injury was always the worst; after that it was all a matter of letting the pain run its course while he kept his mind preoccupied with other things, mentally banishing it into its own insignificant little corner of his consciousness. Not the easiest thing in the world, granted, but something he had plenty of experience with.

The sound of someone getting up out of his seat reached his ears, and when he opened his eyes again his boss was walking confidently towards him.

Ludwig didn't know what he was about to do, but he was one-hundred percent certain he wasn't going to like it. Cradling his broken hand in his good one in the most comfortable position he could manage, he stood and waited for what he could only hope would be either a purely verbal finale or some kind of miraculous reprieve.

The Führer stopped directly in front of him, within easy arm's reach.

Face to face, but not quite eye to eye: Ludwig was about three inches taller. He had never felt more proud of this fact than he did now.

"Kneel before me. I command it." Hitler's brutally dictatorial tone was laced with a disgusting amount of conceit.

_ Go ahead and humiliate me, _Ludwig fumed inwardly, dropping into the ridiculously submissive posture, _You wouldn't __**dare **__if you didn't have this kind of power over me. _Surrendering at last his resolution to remain visibly defiant to the end, he bowed his head in grim resignation, ending the staredown and allowing his face to relax as much as his tense, pain-addled nerves would allow.

Pride. His had been an extremely bitter, nasty pill to swallow, and now that he had the feeling of utter _helplessness_ that it had staved off rushed in like the waters of a foul tide and overwhelmed him.

The moral battle had been waged and he'd lost. Continuing to express anger and hatred towards his boss — whether that expression came in the form of words, actions, or body language — would get him nothing but a harsher sentence. And there was nothing, absolutely _nothing_, he could do about it.

The defeat stung as severely as any loss on the battlefield.

He'd tried.

He'd given it his best.

And he'd only made things worse. So much worse.

"There, you see?" Hitler gloated. "Godlike bodies and abilities, and forced to obey a human master!"

Ludwig closed his eyes, welcomed the warm darkness. Those poor people…there _had_ to be a way he could get out of this.

_ Maybe it won't be so bad…_

"Oh, _I_ see how it works!" Heydrich piped up enthusiastically, "If you give Deutschland a command without using the _word _'command', he can choose to disobey you the same as any human. Saying 'command' makes the command magically binding and impossible for him to resist. I'm right, aren't I?"

"More or less," Hitler said languidly, "'Order' also works. So does 'demand' in the appropriate context. I prefer 'command'. I like the sound of it more."

"What if you give him an impossible command?" Himmler wondered, "Say flying to Mars or turning into a dragon?"

_ Or loving you, _Ludwig added mentally, opening his eyes. He couldn't wait for this conference to be over. He needed a drink. Something stronger than beer.

"Then he'd have to try until I either died or commanded him to stop." There was a brief pause, then "Deutschland, I command you not to move until I say you can. Reinhard, you can get revenge on him for trying to murder you. Keep it tame: I don't like blood and I need him conscious." He turned and headed back for his seat.

"Danke." Heydrich sounded way, way too pleased.

If he were capable of moving the muscles in his face, Ludwig's expression would have turned fierce again. _You had better pray that you remain in Hitler's good graces, or that you die before he does, or that he names you as his successor. Because the moment that protection of yours wears off, Reiny, you're in for a slow, brutal death. _The fire returned to his eyes as he watched the other man approach.

Heydrich stopped in front of him, roughly where Hitler had stood seconds before. "My Führer, what I have in mind will work better if he's standing."

"Fine. Deutschland, I command you to get up, and to continue obeying my previous command once you do."

Ludwig rose to his full height. If only his boss hadn't learned to be so specific with his orders…not that it really mattered in this case when he was already unable to harm his assailant and evading him would only last until the loophole in the command was patched. All he could do was grit his teeth and take it like a nation, just like he had with his burning fingers.

Heydrich drew back his fist, curving his arm. Then he let loose.

Pain!

White flashed before Ludwig's eyes as new, fresh agony tore through his left cheek and jaw. His knee-jerk reaction was to reach up at once and massage it, shield it from another blow and aim a punch of his own at his attacker, but rendered immobile by magic all he could manage was another sharp intake of breath.

Probably for the best, considering that one of his hands hurt just as much as his face.

"Not feeling so high and mighty _now_, are you?" Heydrich sneered, "You don't _deserve_ to be our nation."

"Come on now, Reinhard. Ludwig has his faults and I agree that some of the things he's said and done these last several minutes have been way out of line, but he really does have the best interest of the German people, and the party, at heart."

_ What the…Göring's defending me? Göring?! _Ludwig was so shocked that for a fleeting moment he forgot all about his pain. Sure, he'd known for quite some time now that the large man liked, respected, and admired him — in the Great War they'd both fought alongside the famous flying ace Manfred von Richthofen as part of his Flying Circus, and in all of those interactions and the ones they'd had since they'd always gotten along fairly well — but Ludwig didn't share his love for and obsession with status symbols; riches; flashy outward displays; crude, juvenile humor; and always being the center of attention, and this, along with his preference to spend what little leisure time he had these days either alone or with only a few close friends, had kept them from forming much of a friendship. Ludwig had never made an effort to get to know him better or spend any more time around him than was necessary, and he had always assumed that Göring's fondness for him only went skin-deep. Certainly he hadn't expected him to come to his aid _now_, when he'd revealed himself as a non-anti-Semite, tried to kill Heydrich, and lost his temper with just about every other member of the High Command.

Göring wasn't finished, either. Seconds after he'd started speaking he'd come to stand at Ludwig's side, and now he clapped a hand affectionately on the nation's left shoulder. "This man here is one hell of an effective soldier and leader, and one of the bravest and most steadfast people I know. And before you say it's easy for him to be brave when he heals from any injury in a matter of hours or days and he knows that he won't stay dead for more than a few hours, maybe, when he _does_ die, remember that his kind feel pain just as intensely as we do. Can you imagine what it's like to constantly throw yourself out there on the front lines and suffer gruesome injuries over and over again? To have, for example, your legs blown off one day, your arms the next, then your legs again, then maybe your skull gets bashed in or you get shot several times? They can regenerate body parts, yes, but they have to die in order to do it, and they aren't always able to die quickly. And if they die with bullets or blades stuck in their bodies they're still there when they wake up — they have to be surgically removed. Yet Deutschland keeps taking on the most dangerous missions of all, bleeding, dying, _suffering_ for his mortal soldiers even more readily than they do for him, and he does so all by his own free will. That he extends this love and protection to Jews as well is unfortunate, and he definitely needs to get that temper of his under control, but apart from that he's everything the spirit of Deutschland should be. Strong. Proud. Fierce. Independent. Serious. Dedicated. Aryan…and everything I said earlier." He gave the shoulder under his hand a few pats.

Ludwig felt a sudden flood of affection for his brother's boss: not only did he recognize and appreciate the lengths he went to to win battles and protect his people, he had he correctly identified the reason why he should feel inclined to take fewer risks in battle despite his miracle healing — knowing _exactly _how much each type of injury was going to hurt — which was something Hitler had almost certainly never thought about. Also, the praise was heartening even with the criticism tossed in. He sounded sincere, but even if it was all a sham and he was only trying to score brownie points with him for his own selfish reasons he was _still_ the closest thing Ludwig had to a friend in this room.

Though it was clear from the extremely sour frown he wore and the nasty glean in his eyes that Heydrich strongly disagreed with the sentiments he had just heard, he wisely chose not to argue with one of the few men who outranked him and walked past him without a word.

The sight of a few drops of bright red blood trickling down through his ruffled blonde hair sent a particularly warm rush of satisfaction through Ludwig. Still as a statue he couldn't see where the other Obergruppenführer went, but logically it would be to an empty chair. Himmler and Hitler had already settled back into theirs, and Goebbels had never left his.

Göring stepped forward and addressed his next words to the Führer. "My Führer, I quite agree with your decision to punish him for his behavior this evening, but until our super-soldier program starts producing actual super-soldiers we only have two under our direct control, and while Preußen definitely outstrips humans in strength, speed, agility, and resilience, Deutschland is stronger, and, I suspect, even more resilient. It'd be a shame to waste him on a bunch of Jews, especially when the Moscow campaign is underway and double-especially when you want Russland captured. You know Stalin is going to command every nation spirit he has to fight to the death in defense of that city. Britannien will probably be there too."

Ludwig's spirits rose warily; to his surprise his boss actually appeared to be giving the matter serious thought. Most likely because it had been Göring who had brought it up and not him, the insubordinate "Jew-loving" dissenter.

"Ludwig, I retract my earlier commands not to move or speak. You may do both now."

_ Finally!_ "Danke." Will dominating the powerful, stinging waves of fire radiating through his cheek and fingers, Ludwig turned to his Führer. "Göring makes a good point. It's going to be very difficult to knock Russland unconscious without killing him — whoever does it is going to _have_ to get up close and personal. Last time he and I fought hand-to-hand we were equal in strength. I'm quite a bit stronger than my brother, meaning _I_ should be the one to go up against Russland if we can't do it together. Factor in the other nations that _will_ be there and enemy soldiers, and I'll need Preußen just to cover my back while I'm dealing with the brute. Japan too if we can get him, because despite my best efforts to turn him into something that could pass for a soldier Italien is _still_ almost completely useless in battle."

"His cowardice is sickening," Hitler sneered, "As is his ineptness. Unfortunately we have to work with what we have. I've arranged for him to join up with you and Preußen en route to Moscow. Use him as you will. I will speak to Hirohito about Japan."

"So you're lifting my punishment then?" Despite his cautious tone Ludwig could not fully keep the excitement out of his voice, nor the relief. His boss had said that Italy would be meeting up with him _and_ Prussia, not just Prussia. Since even he wasn't crazy-stupid enough to command the military to cease its advance on the capital of not only Russia, but the entire _Soviet Union_ for three months just so he could punish his nation spirit and return him in time for the assault, it could only mean he'd changed his mind about putting him in the Einsatzgruppen. "_**Danke. **_I swear, you won't regret it!"

"Not so fast, my dear Deutschland." Hitler said in a way which made it clear he was not about to forgive and forget. While his expression was still austere, it was not quite as harsh as before, and when he folded his hands out on the table in front of him again and stared directly into his country's eyes Ludwig saw not only anger, but genuine disappointment radiating from those hard blue irises. "I've decided not to reassign you to the Einsatzgruppen — _for now. _But you had damn well better behave yourself from now on, because if you _ever _insult me or defy me again — if you set one toe out of line, _one toe_" One of his hands flew up and stopped at the height of its arc to display a lone finger extended for emphasis. "— it's to the Einsatzgruppen with you whether it hurts us in the war or not. Am I clear?"

Germany bowed his head, subdued. "Crystal."

"Reinhard?"

"Ja?"

"You get to pick the family that Ludwig will destroy. You will accompany him to the site tomorrow evening. That should be plenty of time for you to prepare." Ludwig's head shot back up. "_What?!_" he almost gasped, eyes widening with sick horror, "You're still going to make me…and on _Saint Nicholas Day?!_"

"_Yes_," Hitler growled, "I can see no reason at all to retract your initial punishment, especially now that I've already shown you far more leniency than you deserve by retracting your second. Be thankful it's only _one_ family."

Every last trace of the horror and revulsion Ludwig felt vanished from his façade as his expression hardened into the mask of stalwart determination he most often wore around his soldiers when laying out a plan of attack or leading them into dangerous territory. Yes, yes he _should _be thankful it was only one family. And of course Hitler wouldn't care that he was forcing him to murder on what was supposed to be a joyous holiday: the more the punishment _hurt _the better. The physical wounds he'd inflicted upon his nation would heal and be gone within hours, but the psychological wounds he was about to inflict would stay with him much, much longer, a powerful reminder of just how _foolish_ he'd been to argue with him.

To be forced to murder in cold blood the very people he'd been trying to save…and Heydrich was _definitely_ going to choose a family with young children, he just _knew_ it…it truly was the worst punishment for him, one even the Devil himself couldn't have topped.

And there was no way out of it.

No. Way. Out.

"If I must then I must." Ludwig conceded in the near-emotionless voice of a battle-hardened general. "But must Heydrich go with me? I presume I will be confronting my targets at home when they are all together in one place. They would have no chance against me even if I were human. And you've seen with your own eyes time and time again just how impossible it is for me to resist your commands, so there is no need to have someone witness me in the act."

Hitler remained unmoved. "Reinhard is going with you." he stated firmly. "I have my reasons."

"What's the matter, Luddy?" Heydrich taunted in an incredibly mocking, condescending tone. "Don't want company?"

Ludwig turned to find him sitting over in the chair Göring had occupied. His face was split with a thin, malicious grin.

It was obvious what he was trying to do. Obvious as day.

As tempting as it was to take the bait and give this steaming sack of pig feces a piece of his mind, Ludwig — exercising a staggering amount of restraint— reigned in his anger and curbed his tongue. He would not make the same mistake a third time.

Still, he couldn't let the provocation go without _any_ kind of comeback. Choosing his words carefully, he presented them likewise, his tone as cold and smooth as ice. "No, especially not yours. But the Führer commands it so I have no choice but to put up with you. Just remember that you're only alive because he wishes it."

Heydrich's grin turned swiftly to a scowl. "And you're —"

"Stop!" Hitler barked, "We've wasted enough time on this already! Reinhard? You'll have plenty of opportunity to tell Deutschland exactly what you think of him on your way to the site tomorrow. Now, once everyone is _seated_, we will start the actual conference I called us together for."

For the first time today Ludwig was glad for his boss's intervention. Though he no longer wanted to be in the conference, the quicker it started the quicker it would end, the quicker he could get away from these men, even if only for a short while. Without a word he and Göring moved for the two empty seats, Ludwig claiming Heydrich's old spot to keep himself as far as possible from his new one.

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

The next hour and a half passed in the usual fashion and covered most of the usual topics, with the Führer going on passionately about blood purity, Germanization, the war, international politics, and current and proposed laws; asking for progress reports; and addressing concerns. At one point there was a lively discussion about Aryan blood and how best to identify and recover the precious genetic material from foreign stock, which, under normal circumstances, Ludwig would have found rather amusing: though they professed a number of physical features to be important, in the end the only ones that seemed to really matter to his fellow High Commanders were "blonde hair" and "blue eyes", which, out the six of them, only he and Heydrich possessed both. But these _weren't_ normal circumstances, and necessity alone drove him to listen to the talk around him, absorb just enough content to satisfactorily answer questions directed at him and offer meaningful input when pressed, not that anyone but Göring seemed to care too much what he thought about anything.

Throughout it all his face showed very little emotion, though when he spoke his voice was as strong as it normally was, his tone every bit as harsh. On the surface he appeared to be taking the consequences of his actions in stride.

However, if his fellow Nazis had been a bit more attentive they would have noticed that when he looked at them, he often didn't seem to be staring _at_ them, but rather _past_ them, his gaze unfocused and far away. And if they had been _really_ attentive they might have caught glimpses of not only pain and sorrow in his eyes, but something much darker and far more sinister.

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><p><strong>AN: **_I'm not trying to paint Göring as a good guy— he definitely __**was not **__one. That being said, I do see him as the lightest figure of the historical Nazi High Command, and I think he would have both liked and respected Ludwig, even after hearing he wasn't on the anti-Semitic bandwagon. Like Ludwig and the Red Baron he was quite the accomplished war hero ( as far as the German people were concerned ) himself from his days as a WWI flying ace, though due to his unbridled arrogance he was never as popular as them among his fellow airmen and compatriots. _

_I really wish I was exaggerating Heydrich's evilness here, but sadly I'm not. :'( The guy was like this in real life, a total sociopath and one of the biggest bloodthirsty A-holes any person alive back then could hope to find anywhere. You __**know**__ you have a problem when friggen __**Hitler**__ has more of a heart than you. :/_

_A big THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed — I do so very much love reading your comments, and I will reply to you as soon as I can, via either the "review reply" buttons or at the end of next chapter for anonymous reviews. :')_

_Happy Valentine's Day!_


	20. Night Falls on Berlin

** Chapter 20**

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><p>Germany ascended two wide wooden steps and paused at the door of the modest two-story white house. It was twenty minutes past twenty-hundred, but the sun had set over four hours ago. Fat, glistening snowflakes fell earnestly from a pitch-black sky, adding to the already-twenty-five-centimeter-deep blanket of snow covering his capitol. In places the drifts were over twice that deep. Even so, the city was far from dark and desolate, with plenty of people to be found out and about and lively yellow light pouring from windows, streetlamps, and the headlights of cars moving slowly down semi-slushy streets. Most businesses were closed and had been for hours, but this was not only a holiday, but a Saturday night, and between pubs, clubs, movie theatres, and parties Berliners had more than enough to keep themselves entertained, and it was a safe bet that most of the adult population wouldn't be ready for bed for a few more hours. Despite the bitter winter chill he and Heydrich had spotted several warmly-dressed young couples out for nighttime walks or playing in the snow. And who could blame them? The air was crisp and wonderfully fresh, the sparkling white snow the perfect temperature and consistency for crafting snowmen and snowballs. The overall mood was joyous and festive.<p>

Twice during the half-hour-long drive and ten-minute walk Germany had closed his eyes, calmed his mind and body, and tried to lose himself in his nationness, the aspect of himself which he had always considered to be more ruthlessly logical and less emotional than his own individual personality.

It had helped, to a degree.

But it did not and could not change the fact that it was his fault that the people who would die tonight had to die. If only he had kept his big mouth _shut_ then Hitler would have had no reason to punish him, and they could have went on living. Perhaps they could have escaped his borders before they became victims of the Final Solution. The odds would be stacked against them, true, but at least they would have _some_ kind of chance.

Against him they had no chance at all. There were seven living in this house, and it was possible some would be able to make it out the back door or a window while he was busy with the others, but whoever did would have Heydrich to deal with, and he had already told Ludwig all about how he would shoot them nonlethally to keep them from traveling very far and save them for him to finish off. As much as Ludwig hated to admit it it was actually for the best that way, because if he were flying solo he'd be forced to hunt any survivors down relentlessly until he had killed all of them, which would make the whole ordeal far more stressful for everyone and way more public than it needed to be.

Of course, it didn't have to be _Heydrich_ in that role. He didn't know what reasons his boss had had for insisting on the pairing, but he could well imagine that it had been an extension of his punishment and Heydrich's revenge.

Predictably, from the moment they had met up their exchanges had been bitter, cutting, and filled with mutual loathing and attempts to get under each other's skin. Ludwig couldn't wait for this terrible night to be over with, to get back to the Russian front and never have to work with Heydrich again. He'd thought about asking Gilbert to assassinate him, decided against it on grounds that there was an excellent chance the Führer would ask him if he knew anything about it and command the truth out of him.

For all its perks, sometimes being a nation really, _really _sucked. All that power and immortality came at a heavy price. The only comfort he and his kind had was the knowledge that their bosses would never have control over their thoughts, that their minds were not bound by the same magical shackles as their bodies.

Not that that made any difference for the Krämer family.

It was past curfew for Berlin's Jews, so all of his targets should be home. Light shone weakly around the curtains of a few of the frosted windows, indicating that at least one person inside was awake. Smoke rose from the chimney.

For several seconds Ludwig stood where he was, unmoving, staring soberly at the wooden door and mentally bracing himself for the storm of strong emotion he was about to generate.

_ Here goes._

Withdrawing his right hand from the pocket of his snow-dusted trenchcoat, he removed the glove covering it and gave the door five solid knocks.

All at once there was a stirring from within, quiet but unmistakable to his acute hearing. More than one person was in the front room, and judging from the hurried sound of their movements, they were wary. After a few seconds one set of footsteps grew progressively louder. Moments later Ludwig heard the clicking of a lock being undone. The door opened slowly.

"Yes? Is something…" The tall brunette standing in the threshold gasped, his expression changing instantly from nervous to cheerful. "_Ludwig?! _Haven't seen you in a while! Come in, come in! Get out of that cold!" He opened the door wider and stepped out of the way, a warm smile blossoming across his face. "It's alright! It's Ludwig Herrmann!"

_ Ludolph?! _Ludwig froze. It was as if an icy gale had manifested out of nowhere and blasted all the warmth out of his body. His throat tightened and went dry. His heart skipped a beat. Though he was able to steel his face against the surprise which begged to be expressed, he was less able to keep it from his eyes, and for a few brief seconds it shone out of them.

He'd been expecting someone he'd never seen before. Instead he'd been greeted with the familiar face of a man he'd twice helped, a man who had in turn repaid his kindness with an offer of friendship and an abundance of hospitality. The memories rushed in in a tide: images of Ludolph and family stranded alongside one of the rural roads that led to his house on the outskirts of Berlin a few winters back when their car had gotten stuck in a ditch; of him stopping and helping them pull the car out using his own car, a rope, and a little discreet superstrength; of a grateful Ludolph and his wife insisting he come to their house ( they'd lived in a different one at the time ) for dinner; of him reluctantly accepting that invitation and having a good time in spite of his aloof nature and lack of social graces. They'd interacted only once since, in the spring of last year. Ludolph had called him up for a friendly chat and they'd spoken for a few minutes on the phone. Upon learning the man's car was in need of repair and that the family was at the moment short on money, Ludwig had offered to come out, take look at it, and fix it if he could, all for free. That Ludolph had called him at a time when he had actually been home resting between missions and not off fighting in a foreign country had been a massive stroke of luck on the brunette's part, and it was also fortunate for him and his family that Ludwig was not only knowledgeable about vehicles and the mechanics pertaining to them, but genuinely enjoyed working on them, and that he hadn't had anything better to do that day anyway. This second visit hadn't lasted as long, and as most of the family had been out at the time there hadn't been as much conversation, but it had not been an unpleasant experience, and at the end of it Ludwig had left feeling accomplished and rather pleased that he'd been able to fix the car and help some of his citizens.

From very early on he'd figured the family was probably Jewish. He hadn't seen any dead giveaways, but their physical appearances did suggest it, and he had noticed that there were certain subjects they seemed to go out of their way to avoid bringing up or discussing, particularly politics, religion, race, and his military career.

The Krämers were acquaintances. Extremely friendly and hospitable acquaintances, but acquaintances nonetheless. Though they and he had gotten off on the right foot during their brief time together he neither knew them well enough nor had been through enough with them to call them "friends" — nor they him, if they were being honest with themselves — and while he did care about them it was in the same general way that he cared about all of his people. He had wished them nothing but happiness, health, and prosperity, but he also hadn't cared if he ever saw them again, and though Ludolph had urged him to stay in touch he had not promised that he would, nor had he planned to. They were a lovely family and they had treated him well, but they didn't have much in common. He wouldn't have been able to stay in their lives long anyway, not when he would have to move in ten years or so and cut all ties with just about every human he knew to prevent them from noticing that he didn't age, or at least that didn't age anywhere near as quickly as he should ( he was still unsure whether he had reached his "age ceiling", as his kind called it ).

_ Krämer. I _thought _that name sounded familiar!_ From the moment it had passed Heydrich's lips Ludwig had been struck by the feeling that he might possibly know his victims, or at least some of their extended family, but Krämer was a common enough surname within German-speaking countries to not immediately call to mind _these _Krämers, and anyway he'd been too distracted by heavy thoughts and emotions — and Heydrich — to think too much about it.

_ Verdammt, of all the Jewish families in Berlin why does it have to be __**this **__one? _A family he had never seen before would have been bad enough, but a family he _knew_, that he had a personal connection with, small though it was — a family that considered him a _friend _and _welcomed_ him into their home with open arms — it was a vicious stab in the heart.

Had this really been all by chance, or had Heydrich somehow _known_ that he knew this family, that they'd had amicable relations?

If Heydrich had known, how had he found out?

Disturbing questions, questions that, for now at least, would have to wait.

The shock worn off, Ludwig took a few seconds to brush, shake, and stomp the snow from his hat, trenchcoat, and boots before entering the house, hastily closing the door behind him. His eyes scanned the room as he took his other glove off and stuffed both of them into his left outer pocket.

Inside the house was warm and had a very relaxed, cozy atmosphere. The living room contained all the usual furniture, with the fire in the hearth and a few candles burning on top of a bookcase adding to the yellowed glow that emanated from a lone reading lamp stationed over the most comfortable armchair. More light spilled in from the kitchen, partitioned from the living room by the wall the settee was placed against. The staircase was to the left.

Including Ludolph, four of the targets were in the living room. That would not be the case for long, however; upstairs the floorboards creaked with the hurried rush of footsteps, and a door crashed against a wall.

_ Well, at least __**most **__of them are in one place. _Ludwig thought glumly as two more targets came down the stairs, faces beaming with excitement. _That will make it easier. But who are those two? _His eyes stuck on two adults off to the right of Mrs. Krämer, one about her age and the other much older, old enough to be either her or Ludolph's father. Everyone else he recognized at least vaguely, but not them. Troubled frowns worried the countenances of both, and the same could be said of Mrs. Krämer.

"Why the surprise, Frau Krämer?"* Ludwig asked, his tone as dry as his expression. "You knew I was in the military."

"Ja, but you didn't tell us you were in the SS as well."

_ Oh. Right. _He had forgotten that they'd only seen him in his green Wehrmacht uniform, not his gray SS one. He shrugged the observation off. "You didn't ask."

The two targets that had come down the stairs went to stand off to the right of Ludolph, who himself stood to the side of the stairs and just out of Ludwig's reach. The tentative atmosphere of the room suffocated some of their excitement, and the first shadows of worry darkened their features.

They were beginning to sense that something was wrong.

At the same time a current of restlessness coursed through Ludwig's body. He wanted to reach into his right coat pocket, to draw the new handgun he'd armed himself with and start killing.

No.

No, he didn't _want_ to do that, it was an urge. An urge felt by his body but not his mind.

_ It's starting. _The Krämers had only minutes left to live.

"Ludwig, is something wrong?" Ludolph's face radiated concern. "You look — and sound — more serious than usual."

_ You have no idea. _Ludwig's face softened with sorrow. Inside he was roiling.

Should he tell them the reason for his visit, give them time to say goodbye to each other and make their peace with the world?

Or would it be better to launch straight into his attack and catch them all off guard, seeing as how they almost certainly weren't going to cooperate with his desire to take their lives as quietly and with as little commotion as possible?

The former was more noble, the latter more practical.

From a purely logical point of view practical was best.

But then, the Krämers were _his _citizens, dying for _his_ mistake. They had committed no wrongs, and had been kind to him…the least he could do was give them a chance to say goodbye. They deserved that much.

Too bad tearful farewells were only going to make this task even harder.

Letting his gaze drop to the floor — he couldn't make direct eye-contact with anyone for this, he just _couldn't _— Ludwig drew in a breath and exhaled it in a sad little sigh. "Ja, something is wrong. Something is _very_ wrong. I have orders to kill you. All of you." His right hand darted into his pocket and came up with a Walther PP, the big brother of the Walther PPK he'd given to Lech. Horrified gasps filled the room. Yet he didn't cock or aim it, not yet. At the moment he just wanted them to see the gun, to know he was armed and meant business. He lifted his gaze, and when he next spoke his voice had hardened. "Starting now you have two minutes to say goodbye to each other and say your final prayers. Make them count."

Though he had never murdered before, Ludwig had killed enough times to know that it was hard to predict exactly how a person would react when faced with death. Some reacted with rage and/or defiance and fought fiercely for their lives to the very end. Others, with somber acceptance. Some tried to be tricky and/or smooth-talk their way out of being killed, while still others totally fell apart, crying, pleading, and begging for their lives.

Unfortunately, the targets fell into the last category. No sooner had Ludwig finished speaking than the air broke with cries of anguish, and eyes rapidly began filling with tears.

"Please! Please don't!" A female's voice, overwhelmed with fear and grief.

"I'm sorry." He truly was.

"How could you do this to us?! You KNOW us!" Ludolph's anger was more than justified.

Ludwig didn't answer. _"The first time I stood with the others and did what we do it was harder than I thought it would be for me to pull the trigger…" _Schmitz's words echoed in his mind.

"Why do you hate us?" Another voice, smaller than all the rest.

"I don't hate you. I never did." The deadly urge within him was growing stronger and stronger. Hitler had commanded him to kill every member of the family living at the address Heydrich picked out: he had not specified _when_ to kill them. This lack of time specification gave the nation a bit of wiggle-room and allowed him to delay acting on the command — a mercy which had allowed him to greet his old acquaintance in a halfway civil manner instead of killing him on sight — but the effect was only temporary, and every second he delayed his body became less and less his own. Though he was fighting it, at this rate he honestly wasn't sure he'd even be able to give his victims the two minutes he'd promised. His thumb twitched towards the hammer of his weapon, his pointer-finger crept insidiously towards the trigger.

"Then why don't you let us go?" A change in speaker.

"I would if I could. But I can't. You wouldn't understand. Hold real still and I promise to be swift and merciful." There was pain in his voice, and his eyes. His face softened, iron façade crumbling away like a sandcastle under a wave.

_ I can't do it, I __**can't. **_

"Well run away! No one will ever know! God, Ludwig, please! You're not like them! You're better than this!"

_ Yes, yes I __**AM**__ better than this! _A sudden surge of defiance flooded Ludwig's spirit, strengthened by the purest, most desperate hope. He had never heard of it being done before, but maybe, just _maybe_, if he fought an evil command with all his heart, mind, body, and soul — with every fiber of his being — he could disobey it. Despite everything that he had seen, done, and been through in life deep down he had not been able to shake the feeling that the magic that had created him and even now drove him mercilessly towards his wicked task was inherently good, that the most powerful magic in the universe was utterly benevolent and pure, that this 'good magic' might even be God Himself and/or love itself, and that love really did conquer all.

With all his will he command his body to stay still.

_ NEIN! I WILL NOT DO IT! I will not become a murderer…_

Wait.

Something was wrong.

Something was horribly, terribly wrong.

_ What the hell am I thinking? h_e snapped at himself, his voice disgusted and abrasive in his mind's ear. _This isn't murder. These aren't Germans. They don't deserve quick and painless deaths. Why am I trying to fight this? What is __**wrong**__ with me? _

Disgusting.

Shameful.

There were no other words for it.

In what to the human eye appeared to be one fluid motion he lifted his pistole, cocked it, and took aim, his expression wholly transformed into something as cold, hard, and callous as the cliffs bordering the edges of far northern seas.

The Jews panicked and began to scatter before him.

_ NEIN! I AM GERMANY, NOT THE NAZI PARTY! Heaven, please help me! _

Everything was happening so fast — the targets were on the move, fleeing, but only about three or four seconds had elapsed since he'd raised his pistole. The battle with the darkness within him had cost him precious time and severely taxed his mental reserves, and now he found it _impossible_ to resist the magic for even a moment longer. It was stronger than any nation; it always had been and always would be.

The next several minutes felt almost like a dream. His finger pumped the trigger of his weapon. His legs gave chase. His eyes went where they needed to go. His hands moved, but he wasn't the one moving them. His fingers betrayed him. Unable to do anything but obey his boss's command, he surrendered at last to the force controlling him. The moment he did so he regained full control of his body, but he knew he was still no more free than if the magic were doing the driving, because it would come back the moment he tried to hesitate.

At least this way he was in control.

A small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless.

A few rooms, a few gunshots, a few acts, a trip outside, and the world turned red with blood.

They'd never stood a chance.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

***Frau = Mrs.**

_A few notes I'd like to make about this chapter: _

_First, Judging from the poll results most people thought Ludwig would find a way out of his punishment, so I should probably start looking for a concrete bunker to hide in. Eheh. -looks around nervously- _

_A few people did get it right, and to the one person who thought he would not only not find a way out of his punishment, but end up turning to the Dark Side and embracing it, well, you weren't _totally _wrong. _

_Second, you'll notice that the Krämers get very, very little physical description — in fact the reader gets a better idea of what their house looks like than they do. This was done deliberately and for good reason(s), not because I got lazy halfway through writing the chapter. You can probably guess what that/those reason(s) is/are but if you're having trouble here's a hint: the lack of description isn't your only clue in this chapter. _

_Third, yes, the chapter of this title has a double meaning._

**Just Another Anon: **_Thank you very much for the praise and in-depth review! Yeah, when I wrote about them I did worry a bit that I was making some members of the High Command seem too "good", but for this fic I've been striving for realism in my characterizations and the bare truth of the matter is that, in real life, these guys _weren't _thinking purely evil thoughts every second of every minute of every day. I doubt even Heydrich fantasized killing Jews while brushing his teeth, combing his hair, fixing his breakfast, playing with his children ( there are pictures of him doing this, an activity most people consider "sweet", "tender", and "the mark of a good parent" ), etc. They had some of the same interest, hobbies, and thoughts that good and upright people have, and if you were to go back in time and meet them and have a conversation with them ( assuming you spoke the right language, had the right phenotype, and showed no obvious signs of being a Jew or other "undesirable" ) they would probably seem pretty normal until a trigger topic (Jews, race, politics, etc. ) emerged. Most of them probably didn't think of themselves as being "evil". _

_I was hoping my intent would come across ( that intent being to make the High Command seem like real people, not Saturday morning cartoon villains ) and judging from your review I succeeded. :') _

**Guest: **_Thank you so much! I'm glad I could make you feel that way! _


	21. Mourning In Exile

**A/N: **_Okay, I have good news and bad news. _

_The good news is: you get two extra chapters! :D_

_The bad news is: Prussia's appearance, as well as the multi-nation action I have planned, is getting kicked back to Chapter 23. D:_

_This happened because, originally, I was going to have this sequence with Germany and Lithuania be a lot more brief, a tidbit comfortably fitting into the multi-nation chapter. It's taken from an online roleplay I did with my best friend, and not only did I vastly underestimate how large it would be when adapted from roleplay format to story format, the more I re-read what we had written, the more I realized that cutting a good 70% of the content would greatly lessen the emotional impact. Yet even cutting far less than that it is __**still**__ too big to be one chapter ( if I wasn't going to split it up, I shouldn't have split Chapters 17, 18, and 19 up either ), so two chapters it is. _

_Full credit for all of Lithuania's dialogue and actions ( for these chapters only! ) goes to my friend, who gave me full permission to reproduce the material here. She wishes to remain anonymous, and indeed told me I didn't have to credit her at all, but I just can't. She's too wonderful a person. :') Thank you, J. I really appreciate this._

_Speaking of online roleplays, if anyone out there is interested, I am the admin of an advanced-literate historical Hetalia roleplay hosted on Invisionfree. Visit my profile for the link — many canons are still available! Right now we especially would love to have a RUSSIA. I play Germany on the site, and portray him exactly as I do here ( in fact, my threads on there often reference events in this story, and vice-versa )._

_Also, for the record — because I know some readers will look at the date and wonder — no, for whatever reasons, Ludwig hasn't learned about Pearl Harbor and America's official entrance into the war yet. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21<strong>

**December 8th, 1941**  
><strong>Berlin, Germany<strong>

* * *

><p><em>"Please! Please <em>_**don't**__!"_ The words haunted him like ghosts, echoing forever in his memory, replaying without warning whether he was awake or asleep, _"We'll run away! No one will ever know! God, Ludwig, please! You're not like them! You're better than this!"_

Damn, why did they have to do that? _Why?!_

For the last two days Ludwig had been trying to take his mind off it, been trying like crazy to forget and focus on other things. His job. His duties. Looking out for the well-being of his citizens. But everywhere he looked he saw them; desperate and terrified, they would be crouched in the corners of houses and in the alleys between buildings, or lying on the floor or ground dressed in scarlet. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of the top of a small head sporting neatly-combed black hair right before it ducked behind a countertop. Breath hitching and heart beating faster, he would go over to investigate only to find nothing.

Always nothing.

It was always the worst at night, when the phantom pangs that had been gradually increasing in frequency and severity for the past two years or so were more prone to striking. At bedtime he usually had too much on his mind to go to sleep right away, and that's when the images loved to come to him. They would appear in more vivid detail than in the day, adding mental pain to physical. Last night they had even crept into his dreams.

Walking briskly, he tried again to focus on his beautiful countryside: how pretty everything looked covered in pristine white, the crisp _crunch_ of snow under his boots. The sun was low and shot like blood on the horizon; it would be dipping behind the western hills within the hour, taking its warmth with it. Venus shone like a white-hot ember in the glow.

Usually an uninterrupted, quiet walk through nature in scenic conditions such as these had a relaxing, mood-enhancing effect on Ludwig. But this time even the setting sun's gorgeous fiery display and the soothing sounds of the wilderness alive all around him could not lift his spirits. Never before had he felt so depressed, angry, guilty, frustrated, humiliated, and powerless, so utterly shaken to the core. Never before had he questioned himself or his people.

Over the last two weeks he had begun to question everything, and the more he did, the worse he felt.

The more he learned, the more he wished he didn't know. Ignorance really was bliss — that was why he couldn't be happy these days. He knew too much, and it was crushing. So many families would have cause only to mourn this holiday season. Because of his Führer, his Nazis, and _him._

He could see his house now, and the shed not far from it where he kept his own personal stash of weapons, ammunition, explosives, tools, machine parts, and other things of that nature.

His house…it would be warmer in there.

Or maybe not, knowing Lithuania.

Ah, but he could always build up the fire. A warm drink — perhaps spiced cider, hot chocolate with rum, or tea — sounded really good right now. He broke into a full-tilt run, eager to put the cold behind him, blotting all else from his mind.

Faster, faster…

He came to an abrupt halt in front of the door. Though he half expected it to be locked, it opened easily enough when he tried it. Unfortunately his suspicions about the temperature proved correct.

_ Toris, you masochist._ he sighed inwardly, swiftly shutting the door behind him. The outer part of his gray SS uniform was as frost-bitten as the outdoors, but taking it off when then the house felt like _this_ was out of the question. Pulling his hat down a little more over his head, he took his icy black gloves off and began rubbing his hands together for heat, pausing every few moments to breathe into them.

Where _was_ that Baltic of his? It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

The Lithuanian had been here recently — of that there was sound evidence. His house was spic and span. The kind of spic and span that, along with the pleasant smell, told him the other country had only recently finished cleaning.

"Litauen!" A glance into the living room failed to turn up his servant, so he strode into the kitchen, figuring it to be the next most logical choice, and where he needed to go anyway to make his drink.

There was Toris, sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up in front of her, all curled into a corner like a little mouse with a cup in her hands.

"There you are," With a twinge of embarrassment Ludwig realized that his tone lacked its usual commanding quality — his relief at having discovered his Baltic safe and sound right when he needed her was paper-thin. He quickly regained himself. "What are you drinking?" He came over and peered down into the cup. It looked — and smelled — like some kind of tea.

A sharp pang flared up in his left shoulder, causing him to wince and inhale shrilly. _I'm not even going to think about that…. _

"Black tea..." Lithuania faltered guiltily. Slowly, as though frightened to make any sudden movements, she uncurled herself and stood up, long, thin fingers wound firmly around the mug she held, leeching its heat. Caution swept her pale, expressive face as she studied her master, likely trying to assess his mood.

"_**Why**_ is it freezing in here?" Ludwig demanded, agitated. "You know that I almost can't tell the difference between inside and outside? It's great that _you're_ comfortable living in an igloo, but I'm not. Build the fire up!"

"Sorry, sir...I..." Toris set the tea down on the kitchen counter with a start and shoved her hands, red and chapped with cold, into the pocket of her apron.

For the first time it struck Ludwig just how _tired_ she looked, how unwell. There were dark semi-circles under her eyes, like she hadn't slept properly in days. Her skin had taken on a bit of a sallow hue, and though she wasn't skin and bones she definitely looked like she had lost a little weight since he had last seen her, which was worrying since she had been underweight even then.

At the very first moment Ludwig thought that she might be running herself ragged out of fear of him making a surprise visit home and being furious at everything not being exactly as he wanted it — years of living with Ivan had turned her into a nervous wreck — but he then he quickly remembered that there was much unrest, carnage, despair, misery, and hatefulness in Lithuania these days. Confined and isolated in Berlin under a government that kept the grisly details of the German occupations out of the local newspapers and radio broadcasts, Toris probably wondered a great deal about what was going on in her borders. More than likely she was experiencing chronic aches and pangs on top of a prolonged cold. Definitely she knew that something was wrong, was alarmed by the emotions she was experiencing.

"I wasn't sure if I was allowed to use up your coal and...and I didn't know that you'd be home or I would have..." The smaller nation trailed off and mumbled another embarrassed apology under her breath. With a faintly fearful air she grabbed the coal bucket which stood beside the furnace and rushed to carry out the order, leaving the kitchen and heading outside for the coal bunker.

If he had been in a better frame of mind, a thin smile would have graced Ludwig's face. _That's what I like about you, Toris. You're so agreeable._ However, recent events had made it all but impossible for him to smile, even halfheartedly. He set the now slightly damp woolen gloves down on the counter, right next to Toris's tea.

It was still steaming: the water used to make it must still be pretty hot. Sure enough he went over to the stove and felt heat emanating from the kettle without even having to get his hand very close.

Perfect.

He reached into the cupboard where he kept his cups, glasses, and steins, and retrieved a big, thick, white mug. It was different from every other mug in his cupboard, and not for the first time as he held it, he wondered a little about where it had come from and how it had ended up in his possession. Not that it mattered, really, but it was weird that he didn't remember.

"The kettle's just boiled if you want tea."

Although he heard them just fine, the late invitation barely registered in Ludwig's mind. He was aware that his servant had returned to the kitchen and was moving in a rush behind and around him, but her actions blurred into triviality in the background. She was just _there_. With a slow nod that Toris likely didn't even see he reached into an adjacent cupboard and found his stash of teas. He was not, by any stretch, a heavy tea-drinker, but he did like a cup every now and then, when the mood struck him. At the moment black or green were the only options.

He decided to go with Toris's choice and grabbed a bag of black. Setting bag in cup, he listened halfheartedly as the little brunette went on about warming the living room up for his comfort while he poured the water. She was trying to be pleasing and helpful, and he really did appreciate it, but he had too much on his mind to attempt conversation or even make small talk.

_ If only I had kept my mouth shut,_ he thought, then mentally chastised himself for thinking that _yet again_. He had leveled that same criticism against himself many, many times within the last 48 hours. Reflecting on what he might have said and done differently never helped, and inevitably only made him feel worse in the end.

For a few minutes he merely stood frozen in the corner where two countertops met, staring into his tea like a zombie, trying and failing to push unwanted thoughts and memories from his mind.

Happily informing him of their plans to kick their mass genocide into high gear, forcing him to murder his own citizens in cold blood, reminding him of the very real possibility that his humanity could be slipping away from him while making it painfully clear that this was what they so desperately _wanted_ for him, to erase all distinction between him and the Nazi party…as if all of these weren't bad enough, his High Command just _had_ to go the extra kilometer and humiliate him on a whole new level to serve their agenda, give him yet _another _reason to hate them.

All he could do was hope their plans failed and he didn't wind up fathering even one child via artificial insemination, a child he wouldn't even be allowed to _visit_, most likely, let alone take any part in raising. As an extra slap in the face, not only was Heydrich aware he'd been forced into the breeding program, he'd asked for — and been promised by Hitler — Ludwig's first son.

Hearing that any children created would be totally human and unwaveringly loyal to Germany above all others hadn't fazed anyone. As Himmler had so indelicately put it, even without his supernatural powers and attributes Ludwig was still the purest and healthiest Aryan of all, and he would still be one of the strongest and fittest German men alive — the ideal form of the ideal form. Never mind the fact that Hitler had declared him sick in the head and insisted that his blood was polluted by all the undesirables still living within his borders, and that every single one of the people in favor of pimping him out like a champion show dog had agreed with this assessment. Ludwig had of course been quick to point this out, and that was when his fellow High Commanders had finally revealed to him that, when they spoke of his blood as being diseased and polluted, they were referring to the collective blood of the German people. The scientists studying the blood from his human body had confirmed it to be pure Aryan. His Großer Ariernachweis(1) was in no danger of being revoked. As for his mind, either they knew in truth that he was _not_ mentally ill, or they supposed that the mental illness he had was a special kind totally removed from genetics.

In reality they were just choosing to believe what they wanted to believe. Since Ludwig lacked biological parents the favored method of determining ancestry and blood purity through birth certificates, marriage certificates, and baptismal records could not be applied to him, and on the microscopic level so much about DNA and genetics was still poorly understood, to the point where Ludwig secretly wondered a little as to whether his scientists had been mistaken when they had concluded that no Jewish blood at all flowed through his veins. It was possible that a trace amount _did_; after all, Jews had lived in his land at the moment he had taken his first breath, and the magic that had created him could have given him some of their genes. Because of the way he looked he doubted that it had, but he had to concede that it _was_ possible.

In any case, the rest of the High Command were absolutely convinced of his Aryan purity, and Hitler and Himmler both wanted him to sire as many children as possible.

Thank God the odds were on his side. No odds at all would have been best, and he _was_ a little worried that fate would roll the dice against him, but for now this worry was a mere housecat sitting on the back of the elephant that was the combined bulk of all the other worries and emotions weighing on his mind, just one more sack of cow pats to throw on the massive manure pile.

He could hear Toris working at the fireplace in the living room. Though the kitchen was at the moment marginally warmer, the lure of the soon-to-be roaring fire was too much to resist. Tea in hand, he turned around and was met with the sight of the other nation pausing in the kitchen doorframe, her face, hands, and apron covered in a fine powdering of soot.

"Are you alright, Ludwig?" Toris asked, her tone and mannerisms strongly reminiscent of a small prey animal, "I mean...that is...can I get you anything?"

Ludwig shook his head. "No. I'm not alright. And thanks, but this tea is enough."

Toris blinked, though whether she was startled by his frankness or the fact that he didn't want anything else he couldn't tell.

Sweeping past her, Ludwig went straight for his favorite armchair. After a day like today it felt good to sit down. He wrapped both hands around his mug, enjoyed the warmth that shot instantly through his fingers and palms. After a few seconds it became too hot, and he switched to gripping the mug by the handle and resting it on his leg.

For several long seconds he stared off blankly into the fledgling fire as though hypnotized by it.

So many thoughts racing through his mind…

His eyes shifted to Toris, still hovering about in the threshold, wiping the soot from her hands with a dull red handkerchief.

The little Baltic was a pathetic slip of a nation. She was weak in every sense of the word, submissive, cowardly, and crazier than a shit-house rat where her love-life was concerned. But she was also kind, polite, unassuming, and usually — from what Ludwig could tell — honest. She and he weren't exactly friends in the traditional sense of the word, but she was good company.

And she was in _**no**_ position to be judgmental.

"Toris?" He took a sip of tea while he tried to think of a good way to phrase the questions he was about to ask. "Have you ever done anything so horrible that the guilt from it ate away at you from the inside, haunted you both in your dreams _**and**_ while you were awake? Have you ever doubted yourself or your people?" His tone was solemn, his face heavy with sadness and fatigue. "I'm very concerned about my future," he continued softly, and his gaze fell to the floor. "I'm going to either win or lose this war. And right now — and I hate myself for this — I'm not sure which I want."

The revelation shocked Lithuania; for a few moments all she could do was stand and gawk at him, unbelieving, handkerchief dangling absently from her hand.

Ludwig didn't blame her: he could hardly believe he was talking this way himself.

The reaction was short-lived. Toris's good manners and meek nature quickly reasserted themselves, and, after first slipping back into her usual deferential composure, she found the courage to come up and perch on the edge of the settee next to him. Rather than look at him, however, her gaze fastened instead upon the flames growing rapidly in the fireplace. She had a faraway look in her eyes, the hallmark of deep thoughts…and memories. She took a long time answering.

"Terrible things happen in war," she said at last, her voice quiet and sincere. "Horrific things. It's partly why I don't like to fight anymore. But you're not a bad person, Ludwig. You're a born soldier, but I don't believe that you're cruel with it. Whatever you've done...whatever's eating away at you...I find it hard to believe that it's irredeemable. I just don't think you have that side to you."

"You'd be surprised." Ludwig said darkly, raising the mug to his lips and taking another sip.

Or would she?

Did Toris truly believe what she was saying, or was she only saying it to please him, put him in as good a mood as possible in order to make her own life more comfortable? After all, it wasn't like she was living as a servant in his house by choice. Conquering her people had made him her boss. Due the fact that his human identity had never been granted the official title of the position and was not recognized as such by the masses he could not force her to bend to his will with magically compelling commands the way his boss could him, but he was her boss all the same, and she knew that she was completely at his mercy, just as her people were at the mercy of the German government. She had a million reasons to verbally agree with everything he said, tell him whatever she thought he wanted to hear.

She leaned forward and fixed him with an earnest gaze, green eyes shining brightly in spite of the exhaustion which hung about them. "You don't normally talk like this." Her head bowed slightly. "It sounds like something really bad has happened. And...um...maybe it's not my place to say, and I really apologize if that's the case, but...sometimes it can help to tell someone." She cleared her throat softly. "And you can talk to me if you like."

Ludwig turned his head and stared once again into the fire, mulling the offer over. He had never been keen to discuss his own personal problems and insecurities with _anyone_ if he could help it, even for the sake of lifting a weight off his chest. But he had already let a lot slip. Way more, he realized, than he would have if he didn't want to talk about it.

Perhaps it _would_ do him good to confide in Toris. If nothing else, it always felt good to vent, and Toris wasn't an active part of the war effort, so he didn't need to worry about staying strong for her sake. Besides, he realized, the two of them actually had quite a bit in common right now.

His decision made, he reached into the right-hand pocket of his trenchcoat and retrieved the medal he'd shown his boss earlier. The little piece of metal was only very slightly warmed from having been outside, and it stung his fingers with its chill, but he held it out anyway in front of Toris. "You see this? This is the medal of an accomplished Russian sniper." He began to play with it, rubbing his fingers along the edges and turning it over a couple of times. "This particular man killed many of my men and shot me twice; both of those shots sent me to Hitler. For five months I hunted him down whenever I could. I finally caught up with him and killed him a couple of weeks ago." He paused, staring thoughtfully off into space.

"I enjoyed it." he continued in a quieter voice, his tone calm and factual, "Both the hunting and making the kill. He was pretty challenging for a regular human." He stared deep into green, tired eyes. "It's not the war itself I have a problem with. I'm a war nation. The challenges, the thrill, constantly being on the move…conquering new lands and people, the strategy involved…I enjoy it. If it weren't for war, I wouldn't even exist. I was born from one of Prussia's victories, and I'm proud of that fact." He took a quick breath. "A lot of bad things _do_ happen during wars yes. People die. Even innocent people, if they're in the wrong place at the wrong time. Civilian casualties happen — I've learned to accept it. But what's happening right now…" He shut his eyes, tried to think of how in the world he was going to break this to Toris. "What's happening now is something I _can't_ accept."

There they were again. Trembling, pleading…

His eyes snapped back open, haunted shadows fleeing across them. He shoved the trophy back into his pocket. "Toris…my boss doesn't want to just relocate all the Jews, he wants them dead. My people have been mass-murdering them for several months now in staggering numbers — hundreds of thousands have already been killed. German Jews, Polish Jews, Lithuanian Jews…it makes no difference. We have entire task-forces dedicated just to that purpose: they sweep into a secured area and ruthlessly hunt down and shoot almost every Jew they see, even infants and small children."

Toris's eyes went as wide as saucers. What little color had been in her face disappeared like water down a drain until nothing but the ashen whiteness of horror-struck shock remained.

Ludwig knew the reaction all too well, knew exactly what was running through the little brunette's mind. For several seconds the revelation hung in the air between them with a horrific, heavy silence as he waited for her to process the information, find her voice again.

At last pale, bloodless lips parted, and Toris managed a quiet, mortified whisper. "Hundreds...of _thousands_...?" She wrapped her arms around herself and bit down hard on her lower lip. "You're...killing them? My people...Feliks's people..." Her voice grew louder and higher in pitch as mild hysteria began to set in. "_Your own people...?!"_ She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at him in sick horror. "Why...?" she demanded, her voice muffled.

Ludwig surrendered a soft, weary sigh. "That was my-"

"Vilnius. There are two hundred and sixty thousand Jews in Vilnius _alone_. Families...civilians..." Toris had removed her hand from her mouth, and now she sucked in a deep, labored breath. "Oh God…Oh God I think I'm going to be sick..."

Though his countenance and posture remained fixed in the likeness of subdued solemnity, inside Ludwig winced. Toris was reliving his own reaction down to many of the same thoughts in a more extreme, less dignified fashion.

Without warning the Baltic slid from her perch on the arm of the settee and went down on her knees in front of him. Ludwig had no time to react or even think before the smaller country seized his right hand with a strength that was startling. "Is it true? Is this why it hurts so badly? Because you're killing my children?!" She shoved Ludwig's hand against her chest with the same vigor Ludwig would put into striking the head of a venomous serpent, surprising the German with how much her grip _hurt_. "They're not even your _enemy_." she went on frantically, "They have nothing to do with your war. _I_ have nothing to do with your war!"

The outburst carried the stench of truth.

Ludwig lowered his head and stared at the floor, his expression approaching stoic resignation with guilt-laden, helpless sorrow shading the edges of his mouth and eyes. "I know." he said calmly, the words heavy on his tongue.

Toris released her death-grip on his hand and shrank back against the settee. At last, the realization broke on her, and, in a much quieter, calmer voice than she had used moments before, she correctly identified the biggest root of Ludwig's misery. "He's making you kill your own people too. Not just mine. Yours too. You don't have a choice...do you?"

"No, I don't." Germany answered flatly, lifting his eyes from the floor to meet Toris's gaze. He drew his right hand into his lap and pressed it up against his half-drunk tea, siphoning what warmth he could out of the cooling mug. "I know perfectly well that the Jews are not my enemy. More so than everyone thinks. I've had Jewish friends. I've seen firsthand how wrong my boss is about them. They're not subhuman. Not wicked. Not trying to destroy me, tear me down, or turn me communist. That's all a load of bullshit Hitler's been selling to unite my people in hatred against a scapegoat 'enemy', securing his power and being seen as my savior in one stroke. Unfortunately, too many of my people didn't ask questions when it was still early enough to do something, and by the time I did it was too late. His power over me was absolute." He paused to draw a breath. Cast his eyes again thoughtfully to the fire.

"At first, I thought he was going to be a great boss. Not perfect, but just what I needed. Sure, he had some stupid ideas about the Jews and some other harmless minority groups, and his sanity was at times questionable even back then, but I liked so many of his ideas and proposals, especially where my armed forces, economy, and that ridiculous _Treaty of Versailles_ were concerned. I thought he would make me great — that the good he would do would by far offset any bad. I supported him in his bid for power. When he did away with my former government and installed his own, I welcomed the changes. Mostly. I never did like the way he treated my Jews, even before I knew how bad they really had it. But I figured it was a small price to pay for greatness, so I kept quiet and obediently did whatever he commanded of me, the way a good country should."

He took another quick sip of tea, then shifted his gaze back to Toris. "Everything was fine until last week when I stopped by Ponary on the way home. There had been an explosion in the underground tunnels, so I took the lead of an armed expedition to discover the cause and secure the area. That's where I found a friend of mine dying. She'd been shot at least once, and smashed under some rubble that had fallen in the explosion." He paused briefly, then continued, his voice taking on a slightly mechanical tone. "I didn't know she was a Jew until she told me. She also told me what was happening to the Jews: how Ponary had turned into a mass-killing site where the SS Einsatzgruppen rounded up Jews from Vilnius and other regions — but mostly Vilnius — and brought them there. How they made hundreds at a time march to massive pits, remove all their clothing, and line up along the edges where they were shot in." He sucked in a deep breath and shook his head, disgusted with those men, his Führer, and the whole situation. "My reaction wasn't too different from yours. Her dying wish was for me to go into the Vilnius ghetto and rescue her two young children." He let out an incredibly brief, utterly humorless chuckle. "She _must_ have been desperate to trust me. We didn't even know each other that well — I call her a friend, but really she was more of an acquaintance."

Tears had come to Toris's eyes somewhere in the course of his bleak tale, and now she succumbed to her nervous habit of hunching up into the smallest package possible. "Paneriai…"(2)

_ What? _Ludwig had heard that word before, in Vilnius, but its meaning presently escaped him.

"Oh God...it's true...?" Toris wound her arms more tightly around her legs and shook her head over and over again, still in a state of shock and confusion. "Why aren't my people stopping them? Why is there no resistance?" She looked directly into Ludwig's eyes right then, and the German could _see _the desperation, the despair and confusion which swam within her own. "The Lithuanian people are resisting against your men, against the murders...aren't they? Tell me they're not letting this happen..."

_Toris, you're not going to like the answer to that._ "Lithuania —"

"Did you find them? The woman's children? Did you go to Vilnius? What's happening there?"

Ludwig finished up the last of his tea, setting the cup down on the floor next to the side of his chair. "The Vilnius I visited isn't a place you would remember, or ever want to see. All of your Jews are being forced to live in a single boarded-off ghetto with only one way in and one way out, both of them tightly guarded. They work there as slave-labor in terrible conditions. The ghetto is overcrowded and filthy. Everyone's starving and miserable, living in a state of constant fear." He shook his head slowly, shoving the memories aside. "It's bad. It was bad even for me, and I wasn't even in for more than half an hour looking for those children."

"You saved them, though?" Toris's voice was so small, tinged with a worried hopefulness. "You saved them?"

Ludwig sighed and reached up to lightly massage his temple. "Yes, I saved them. I found them right as they were about to get on the train to Ponary along with a load of other Jews. I had to rescue the five-year-old from a Lithuanian who was going to beat him to death…"

Lithuania's eyebrows flew up at this statement. She began shaking her head. "You mean —"

"…Then I had to make up a story about why I needed them. Thankfully the only people with the nerve and authority to question me weren't there." Ludwig brought his hand back down and gazed at Toris wistfully, his expression softening. "I hadn't planned on staying overnight in Vilnius, but I couldn't take a pair of children with me to see the Führer. So I got a room and let them stay with me. I washed them up. Fed them. Bought them new clothes. I arranged for them to go live with their cousin in America and stayed with them right up until Alfred himself came and took them. I don't know what became of them after that." He looked away. "I…I hope they're doing alright," he said awkwardly, his voice much quieter, almost as though he were admitting to something shameful. "I kind of like them."

Arik and Nessa…as long as he lived he'd never forget them.

But rescuing the children was the one glittering story in a sea of black tragedies. Even the good he felt now reflecting on it did almost nothing to improve his mood.

The fire had grown bigger now. Warmer. The heat from it had already begun to melt the ice on his coat and hat. He turned his face back towards it, not caring to see Toris's reaction to his next words.

"The Lithuanians are not resisting for two main reasons. One is because they know it would be suicide. My people have complete control over the area. Any non-German who sets a foot out of line is shot. The other is because, ever since occupation began, they've been all too eager and willing to cooperate with every demand we make. All the Lithuanian Jews that have been killed so far? We couldn't have done so many so quickly without help from the local militia." Throughout this, his tone had been very candid — almost emotionless. Now it took on a muted but unmistakable tenor of sadness. "It's not just Nazis who are brutally attacking, beating, and murdering Jews. Your people are doing it too."

_ "Užsikišk!"_(3) Toris cried out in anguish, and Ludwig knew he'd just heard the sound of her heart breaking, "Please, Germany,"

The Nazi shut his eyes, braced himself for the onslaught of strong emotion that the trembling, pleading pitch in those two words warned of.

"Why are you saying all these things? Did I do something wrong? Are you punishing me?"

_What?! How could you think that?_ The innocent questions, carried by such a tiny, forlorn voice, flew past all of Ludwig's iron defenses and pierced his heart with a stinging arrow of guilt. His eyelids shot open and he turned to face Toris at once, his conscience forcing him to look, to take in the sight of a horrified, colorless face wrought with grief and hopelessness.

"No! No, I'm not punishing you!" he said quickly, his voice rising in volume and taking on a slightly frantic, awkwardly apologetic quality.

Toris began shivering violently, as though the temperature in the house had dropped below zero, and for a moment Ludwig wished he had not been so brutally honest with her, that he had blamed the lack of Lithuanian resistance solely on the superiority and ubiquity of the German military and had left it at that. But how could he lie to Toris when he was in the same predicament as her, when he _knew _this pain?

Releasing the truth had, in a very small way, made him feel a little better about himself: his people weren't the only ones out there ruthlessly mass-murdering innocent, harmless civilians. He felt less alone in his misery.

"Please, please tell me you made it all up! My children wouldn't...they're..." The Lithuanian blinked and swallowed, her pale features miserable and haunted.

Ludwig shook his head. "You asked a question and I answered it. I answered _honestly_. Not because you were bad, but because I thought you wanted the truth. That _is_ why you asked, right?"

Toris blinked, her face washed out with an eerie, blank misery. "Oh God...m..mano vaikai ..."(4) she whispered, utterly heartbroken. She continued to shake like a hairless dog caught out in a Siberian snowstorm.

Ludwig could stand it no longer. He had experienced a _hell of lot_ of emotionally-charged moments in the past seven days — more than he had in the entire past seventy-some-odd years of his life, he'd be willing to bet — and seeing Lithuania like this now threatened to break his heart even more than it already was. He had to do _something_. Rising out of his seat, he started for the other nation.

"What do I do?" Toris asked, her voice hoarse and quiet, "You're good at giving orders. C...couldn't you tell me what to do?"

Ludwig knelt down on one knee in front of her. Awkwardness fluttered about his features as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

This sensation…it felt strange and a little uncomfortable, but in an oddly nice way, the way comforting the children had felt.

"I can't," he said softly, "There's nothing either of us _**can**_ do. What's happening now…I hate it as much as you. It's heartbreaking. Cruel. I don't even like to see my enemies suffer like that — it's hard for me to stand by and watch my own people act so monstrous, knowing that I can't command them to stop without being branded a traitor and severely punished." He gave Toris's shoulder a couple of gentle pats. The motherly Baltic seemed like the type to take comfort in a bit of friendly physical contact. "Your people are just scared, Toris. Scared enough to do anything to ensure their families' survival. Nazis have a pretty frightening reputation, especially the SS that stay behind when most of the Wehrmacht clears out. We…" He hesitated.

No, that word wasn't right.

He began again. "_**they**_…look for any excuse to kill. Some of them really get off on the beatings and killings, the thrill of the hunt, on playing God and deciding who lives and dies. The others do it out of hatred and fear. And…" his voice hitched, and he exhaled a soft sigh, closing his eyes momentarily, "I know that probably wasn't very comforting. Sorry. It's the best I can do."

Toris nodded silently, a mournfully hopeful expression rolling over her features.

Ludwig pulled his hand away and stood up. The tiniest, saddest smile appeared on his face as he nodded his head towards the settee. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable on the settee? I've got something that will help." His voice was a little warmer than before, slightly more upbeat. Turning quickly, he headed for his bedroom with hurried, striding steps.

_ I have just the thing to help with that shivering._ Entering the frigid icebox that was his room, he pulled open his closet and grabbed the big white blanket sitting on top of all his other bedding. It was a feather blanket, very thick, warm, and soft. It was a permanent feature on his bed during the winter, when he was home. When he wasn't he liked to keep it put up, just in case something somehow jumped up onto his bed and ruined it.

Okay, so maybe that was a slightly unfounded fear since his dogs hadn't lived here in a while and weren't due to move back anytime real soon, but better safe than sorry, right?

Blanket in-hand, he exited his room, closing the door solidly behind him to seal out the Arctic chill. As soon as he reached the settee he tossed the neatly-folded bundle onto it and moved to stand in front of the fire.

"Do you need me to wash it?" Toris blurted out.

_ What? _Ludwig turned his back to the flames and studied his servant inquisitively, trying to figure her out. Obviously, if he had told her that he had something that could help and had suggested that she make herself comfortable, he didn't have housework in mind. He may have been a clean-freak, but he wouldn't describe the activity as _comforting_: just necessary. Unless Toris were a complete germaphobe who was having a strong reaction to something disgusting on the blanket, he wouldn't suggest laundering for comfort.

Besides, the blanket was immaculate.

So why was Toris was hunched into her trademark scared-mouse position in the corner of the settee, pale, trembling, barefoot, and looking quite terrified?

_ What did I __**do**__? _

"I thought I'd already laundered all of your bedclothes," Toris mumbled, "I must have missed this. I'm sorry."

_ Toris, you don't have to…_

But the other nation was already apologizing. Tragically-nervous eyes focused on the blanket as though their owner expected it to come to life, sprout teeth, and bite her. "Sir, I'm sorry…" Her voice nearly cracked: she looked so _lost_. "What do you want me to do with it?"

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

(1) Greater Aryan certificate. In Nazi Germany it was impossible to inherit land or join the Nazi party without it. The certificate traced the family pedigree back to January 1, 1800 ( January 1, 1750 for SS officers ) and served as proof that that none of the person's ancestors going as far back as that date were of Jewish or colored descent.

(2) The village that the Poles called "Ponary" the Lithuanians referred to as "Paneriai". For years ownership of this city and surrounding territory was disputed by the two countries. In modern times it is officially part of Lithuania.

(3) "Shut up" in Lithuanian.

(4) "My children" in Lithuanian.


	22. The Invincible Light

** Chapter 22**

* * *

><p>Did Ivan's cruelty know no bounds? Ludwig had long since discovered the Russian's darker nature, but damn, he was even more of a sadistic, mindgame-loving sonuvabitch than he had previously imagined to have his own <em>lover<em> afraid of covering up with a blanket that had been freely offered to her by _someone else_ when she was freezing cold.

_Did he play these head games with you?_ he wondered silently, his expression softening as he took in the fragile, shivering form on the settee, _Did he offer you objects, and then make you __**guess**__ what to do with them? And if you got it wrong, was that how you received most of your whippings?_

Whatever had happened in the past, Toris sure as hell didn't have to worry about Russian beatings _now_.

"I know this is only your sixth month with me, Lithuania," he said amicably, approaching the settee, "but I'm not Russia. I don't play headgames with my servants. If I tell you to make yourself comfortable and toss you a blanket, it's safe to assume you can use it for that. If I need you to do something, I'll tell you to do it. I won't make you guess. Not only is that cruel, it's a very inefficient system." Grabbing the feather-blanket, he held it up to his chest and unfolded it in front of Toris. Then he put it over her, gently tucking her in. "Here." A sad smile graced his lips, and subdued warmth radiated from his eyes as he met Toris's gaze. "Feel free to do whatever you want with it — it's yours now. I'm giving it to you as an early Christmas present. And before you ask, yes, I mean it, and yes, this is real. I'm not secretly waiting to hurt you the moment you start using it."

Toris blushed. "Thank you." It was warming the way her green eyes sparkled to life with gratitude, the way she seemed to thaw under the warmth and softness of the blanket. She was still a long way away from good spirits, but the gift nonetheless seemed to improve her mood and take her mind off of dying Jews and treacherous, murderous Lithuanians.

At least, for now.

Ludwig found that his hat was starting to get a bit uncomfortable now; he'd been wearing it far too long. Taking it off and tossing it onto the armchair, he shook his head and ran a hand over his hair to smooth it down.

"Wars can't last forever." Toris started unexpectedly, "Even World Wars. Something has to give...at some point." She shifted into a new, more comfortable position under the blanket. "Things will give...change. I…I wish I wasn't so helpless...I wish I could take charge of my own affairs and fix things and..." She looked desolately towards the fire.

"But no. I think that's the worst part. There's nothing I can do. Ivan ruined all my chances of being able to take care of myself. The longer I spend occupied by other nations, the more years go by without me having any real government of my own, the weaker I get."

_ That's why you fight like hell to avoid occupation,_ Ludwig thought, even though he knew that Lithuania's first big slip-up that had ultimately led to her serial-occupation by other nations might not necessarily have been her fault. Sometimes the enemy was simply too superior in too many ways, and even in a more favorable match all it took was one bad boss and a careless or ineffective government to screw things up royally. Even great powers weren't immune to poor leadership — he was proof of that.

"Realistically, whether I end up incorporated into the Soviet Union, or whether it's the Third Reich, the outcome will eventually be the same. You know what happens to countries when they stop being countries."

_Yes._ Ludwig's eyes shut lightly as a butterfly coming to rest. A fresh wave of sorrow broke upon him; he may not hold Toris in the highest esteem, but he didn't want to see her _die_. Ideally he'd just hold on to the Baltic forever without absorbing her, the Lithuanians remaining culturally distinct with just enough national identity for the spirit of their country to survive.

But he had little-to-no control over whether or not that happened.

So much power, but unable to do anything…

A flickering red darkness filled his vision, as though the fire were burning through his eyelids. He felt Toris's eyes on him.

"It wouldn't be so bad, you know. Any of it. I can cope with living like this…"

Ludwig opened his eyes, tilted his head, and stared at his servant.

"...even cope with the way things were at Ivan's, even cope with the idea that I'll probably die. But I can't bear the thought of anything happening to my children. And maybe it's just selfish, because I know that whether I'm around or not, I can't actually _do_ anything to protect them; I can't even don a uniform and _fight_ alongside them the way you can...I can't even go and _visit_ them...but I still can't help but want to know that they're mine. Not yours, or Russia's or Poland's. I love them desperately...the ones that are dying, and the ones who are doing the killing...all of them. Is that so awful?"

_ No. _Toris was preaching to the choir; he knew exactly how she felt, understood in the way only another nation spirit could.

The Baltic surrendered a weary, sad little sigh. "You once told me, a few years ago, that conquering me was scarcely worth the effort. Sometimes, I can see why you said that."

Ludwig remained silent and unmoving for a moment, his face returned to the grave humorlessness of earlier, when he had been reflecting on all he had learned, witnessed, and done in the past week. "It's true," he said seriously, "as far as countries go, you're not very strong or influential. You can't help your people. All you can do is ride it out and hope that the war ends quickly. If I win I'll probably end up killing you in the near future, whether I want to or not. My boss would rather make all the territory I conquer part of me and Germanize everyone than deal with servant nations, and he'll force his ideals onto everyone else's people just as he did mine. Any of your people that can't escape will be forced to either convert or make a convincing show of converting. They'll be treated as second-class citizens." He looked back into the leaping flames. The room was heating up quickly, as was his body. Within the next few minutes he'd be taking his coat off.

"If the Allies win you won't be much better off, but your Jews will be safer and you'll probably live longer. Maybe. I can't say for sure, if half the things I've heard about Stalin are true. Either way, at least death is the worst that can happen to you. And if you die you won't be around to worry about it."

It was darker now: Ludwig glanced out the window on his left to see the sun halfway sunken behind the hills, red as a pool of blood eddying beneath an old wound that wouldn't heal. It reminded him of the gates of Hell, and he hastily turned away, focusing his attention back on his servant instead.

Toris had shrunk as far as humanly possible back into one corner of the settee, every part of her body except her head covered and hidden from sight by the blanket. Though the color was returning to her skin and she had stopped shivering, the hopelessly mournful expression she wore stood testament to the fact that broken hearts were not fixed as easily as chilled bodies. Tears trickled passively down her cheeks.

"I tried to help them, you know." Ludwig almost whispered, voice heavy with regret. "The Jews. A few days ago I went to my boss and tried to get him to at least stop the mass-killings, to improve the conditions in the ghettos even fractionally." He drew in a deep breath and exhaled it noisily, shaking his head. "I was unsuccessful. In fact, I only made things worse. When Hitler heard what I wanted he flew into a rage and called me an ungrateful, insolent nation. Insisted that my Jews were poisoning my mind as well as my body. It only made him more determined to ramp up the killings in order to 'cure' me. I…" He grimaced. "I made the mistake of arguing with him. It got ugly."

Toris shook her head slowly, empathetically. She knew where this was heading.

Something broke inside of Germany right then. All at once and without warning, all the emotion he'd been keeping bottled up burst out of him like a river exploding through a damn; his face hardened, his jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists. Water began welling furiously in the corners of his eyes. "If only I hadn't called him an Austrian bastard!" he cried out in anguish, the light in the room revealing the wild, desperate despair swirling over his face like a sudden storm, "I think that was the straw that tipped him over! If I hadn't maybe my punishment wouldn't have been so severe, maybe he wouldn't have made me — " he stopped, deeply ashamed in every way, but especially of the hot tears spilling down his cheeks.

His sudden outburst spooked Toris: the Lithuanian gave a start and stared at him with wide eyes, as though she could not believe what she was seeing.

Ludwig jerked his face away swiftly and wiped at his eyes with the cool sleeve of his trenchcoat. _She can't see me like this!_ He couldn't believe he was doing this, that he was actually _crying_. He hadn't cried in decades, since the death of Ber. Even then he had only shed a few a silent tears in private. Always in private.

But this time, no matter how he commanded them to stop, the tears would not. They were mad with freedom and kept slipping out of his eyes one after another, an embarrassing, humiliating, downright _emasculating_ salty torrent that sank into the material of his coat.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to hold them inside.

A small figure emerged in the darkness, and Ludwig's heart jumped up into his throat and broke. _No! _

This was no memory.

The boy spoke without opening his mouth. _You didn't fight with __**all **__your will._

The seven words cut his soul like a rain of razors.

For the first time ever he began to sob.

It wasn't a lusty, noisy sob, but rather quiet and restrained, punctuated by breaths drawn in too sharply and exhaled before their time.

"It's alright," At some point Toris had gotten up and approached him, and now she was giving his hand a gentle squeeze, her work-worn skin cool to the touch. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

The words were as gentle and tender as the hand which came up to rest on his shoulder.

Ludwig's eyes opened in silent wonder.

After all he had just said, after all he had _done_, could it be that Toris was trying to soothe him?

When she next spoke there was no mistaking the sadness and caring in the brunette's voice. "But you don't have to be ashamed. Whatever he did...or forced you into...it's not your fault. I'm sure you were trying to help."

Ludwig wiped his eyes dry on the sleeve of his coat and looked up, no longer sobbing, but teetering on the verge of a relapse. At the look of empathy and concern on the other country's face he tried to muster up a confident, in-control expression, but it came out half-hearted and obviously farce.

"But it _is_ my fault," he protested, a strange helplessness to his tone, "I should have known better than to try to reason with him like that. I _knew_ the man was insane and unreasonable. I _knew_ how much he hated the Jews. I knew he had a long history of not listening to anyone — including me. Yet I still tried like a damned fool. I had the best intentions, Toris. But those intentions made everything so much worse for me and everyone I was trying to help. It would have been better if I had kept my mouth shut and went back to the front." His eyes fell miserably to the floor, two silent, renegade tears running down his cheeks. "He made me do something evil," he continued slowly, "I didn't want to. I fought it. But I didn't — _couldn't_ — fight with all my will. I know that wouldn't have made a difference anyway, but still…" he trailed off. "The Nazis are darkening my soul," he said suddenly, as though it had just come to him, "I can _feel_ them changing me. Sometimes I get these impulses. They're getting harder to shake off. If…" He looked up at Toris, and the shadow of fear flew across his eyes. Very gently, seemingly by accident, the hand under Toris's turned and grasped some of the Lithuanian's digits. "…if things keep going this way, if Hitler and his government keep brainwashing all the humanity out of my people, I'll become just as ruthless and cold-hearted as the rest of the SS. That's how it works, isn't it? We reflect our people. I can't reflect ideals that are no longer there."

Toris shook her head firmly, and her other hand joined her first, taking Ludwig's entire right hand up in both of hers and squeezing it gently as if trying to warm it.

"It doesn't work that way, Ludwig. Not completely."

_It doesn't?_

Hope blossomed anew.

"Our people influence us, our national sentiments color our emotions, our thoughts...but we're not just a hollow walking reflection of current popular thinking. We both have years and years of history behind us that give us our own character." She reached up and put one hand flat against Ludwig's chest, smiling sadly. "You have so much goodness behind you. You've lived your own life and you've shaped your personality from what you've seen of the world over hundreds of years."

_** Hundreds**__ of years?_ Germany blinked, reminded again of the fact that, compared to Lithuania, he was practically a baby.

"A brief, cruel flash in your history is not going to turn you into a monster. And you're not just _Germany_, you're _Ludwig_ too. You like dogs, and you secretly like to bake brownies, and you're awkward around kids and you love your big brother and you have a soft spot for Italy and a hundred and one other traits which make you an individual in your own right."

_ How does she know I'm awkward around children? _Ludwig wondered, but only briefly as he realized that it wouldn't take a master detective to figure that out.

"Your people might win the war, Hitler might spread his hateful ideals, you might even conquer Europe and you might end up killing me. But I think that, even if that all happens...and it _will_ hurt you desperately and it _will_ cast a dark shadow over the whole world...but you won't _really_ lose who you are, not if you hold on hard enough."

_Not if I hold on hard enough…that's all I can do, hold on?_

Perhaps that was it then: he couldn't vanquish the dark thoughts and feelings that jumped through his mind and tried to gain control of it. As long as Hitler's followers continued to hold the views they held and commit genocide, the essence of their thoughts and actions would burn strong within him. Strong enough to flare up and try to overpower him, to change his character. But if held on tightly to who he was — everything that made him _Ludwig_ and not just that which made him _Germany_ — then he wouldn't lose himself, wouldn't turn into an indifferent or cold-hearted murderer. He couldn't beat the darkness, but he could keep it from beating _him_.

Was that was Toris was trying to say?

After a few beats of silence the little Lithuanian continued, her voice quiet and insistent. "There will always be good people, in every country. And you don't have to embody all of their mistakes, because human beings are young, and haphazard, and foolish and they can hurt each other arbitrarily, out of fear and spite and selfishness, and they always have and always will...but you have so many more years of wisdom behind you."

The whole while she was speaking Toris's sad smile persisted, and for some reason right then Ludwig felt another warm wave pass over him.

"Look at even _me_. Objectively, I'm in a really bad state, physically and mentally. But I'm still _Toris_. I still care and I haven't given up on the world yet. I haven't lost sight of the things that make me _me_...not really...even underneath everything else. And I'm not nearly as strong as you are."

_True._

"So neither will you, no matter what happens."

The ghost of relief emerged on Ludwig's face, only to be torn apart seconds later by the realization that he didn't know for _sure_ that Lithuania's personality hadn't changed: he hadn't known the Baltic long. For all he knew Toris could have had a completely different personality hundreds of years ago, back when she was strong. It could have resembled America's, or Japan's, or hell, even Prussia's. Perhaps Toris had gotten so used to the change brought on by her citizens getting progressively more spineless that she had forgotten that she had ever been anything else.

He was just about to address this concern when the teakettle screamed.

Toris leapt back at once, the socks startled off her.

Though none of his outward appearances so much as hinted at it, Ludwig thought the nervous reaction was kind of cute, pathetic as it was. It reminded him a bit of Feliciano and how he was never ready for anything either.

"Ahh…I'm sorry! I put the kettle on again before I came in. I thought you might want…I mean...um...the...what would you like, Sir?"

"Cocoa with rum." Ludwig said with a small smile. Before Toris had a chance to so much as twitch he was rushing towards the kitchen, stooping quickly to grab the mug he'd left at the side of his chair. "Thanks, but I can get it. I like it a certain way."

The '_thanks_' slipped out without his thinking; unless it was in mocking, he made it a point never to thank nations which he had just conquered and was currently occupying/dominating for anything. Doing so implied equality, and he hated being viewed as anything less than superior in the eyes of his servants/slaves/defeated enemies. But he had a lot on his mind, and with the ear-piercing whistle also distracting him he never caught it.

Reaching the teakettle, he moved it off the burner and turned the flame off. He then proceeded to make his drink as carefully as if he were mixing chemicals, measuring just the right amount of cocoa out of the tin and mixing it with a fair amount of rum he pulled from the cupboards under the counter, stirring carefully with a teaspoon before adding water and stirring some more.

"There's enough water for both of us, Toris, if you want more tea or anything else that needs it." he called out in what he hoped was an inviting tone, not particularly caring whether the other nation took him up on the offer but wanting her to know she was welcome to it.

"Thanks, but I'm alright, really." Toris squeaked from the other room.

_ Suit yourself. _When his cocoa was ready Ludwig carried it back into the living room and set it down on one of the end-tables while he undid his trenchcoat, exposing the green uniform beneath. Once it was all the way off, he took the coat over to the coat-rack next to the door and hung it up. Then he snatched up his mug and returned to his original seat near the fire.

Toris watched him curiously. She hadn't moved from her spot in front of the hearth.

"I hope you're right," Ludwig said after a moment, thoughtful. "I don't ever want to reach the point where I enjoy murdering innocent people. Or…and I think this would be worse…where I look at them and feel _nothing_." He stared down into his cocoa. "I want to believe you — that if I just hold on tightly to my human self I'll never be changed by the majority views of my nation self. But I don't know if I can…I haven't got hundreds of years of experience to draw from like you seem to think. I'm only seventy years old." There was a brief pause as he did some mental math. "Seventy-five, actually, if you count the time I spent as the North German Confederation. Prussia says I was born in the summer of 1866." He shook his head. "There are plenty of humans older than me out there. You say you've been through so much without having your personality changed — how do I know you just don't _remember_ it being changed? You were strong once. Respected. No offense, but it's hard to imagine that you had the same personality then as you do now."

"You're right," Toris said levelly, sighing and staring into the fire. "I'm not as strong as I was, and I suppose to you, it must be really hard to imagine that Feliks and I were once the dominant force in Eastern Europe. But you know...back then the world was a really different place."

_That I have no doubt._ Times really did change, didn't they? Toris was right: it _was _extremely hard from him to envision a Europe dominated by Toris and Feliks, though he knew it to be fact. The world would have _had_ to have been different back then, and the nations too.

"When Feliks and I joined forces, Ivan was just this lost little kid, and so many of you weren't born yet. Even Poland and I were really just naïve teenagers at the time, trying to keep your brother at bay so that we could keep holding onto this lovely, bright little world that we'd made for ourselves."

Toris's voice changed then, acquired an almost dreamlike quality as it began to echo with the ages. "It's true that everyone is going to change over hundreds of years, especially if you've had the experiences that I have, with Ivan's mental health deteriorating and with being subjugated for centuries. I was never an aggressive person, never someone who was Hell-bent on conquest. I was always peaceful, I always preferred cooking and farming and living quietly and taking care of others. When the time came, I fought in battle with everything I had, but I was only so fierce because I was fighting to protect my children. I never delighted in it. And at the time, I was stronger, I had land and resources and a powerful ally in Poland, so I wasn't as easily conquered as I am now and that made me more confident. But you saw how I was when you first came to drag me from my house...I still put up all the fight I had, even then. It just...wasn't so effective."

_Indeed it wasn't. _Ludwig reflected with a small measure of pride. Though part of him did find it sad; Lithuania had given her best to remain independent, and her best hadn't been good enough. Not in the face of a powerhungry younger and stronger foe hellbent on conquering as much land as possible to use for his own ends. Thinking about it sent a twinge of guilt through Ludwig: he felt a little like the Big Bad Wolf.

But only a little.

The land, extra labor, and resources were a big help to his people, and a testament to his might. The weak were exploited by the strong. Hitler _had_ been right about that. Conquer or be conquered. Kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest. Toris had failed to adapt, to adequately defend herself and keep up with the times. Whether it was through any fault of her own or not, she was paying the price all weak things paid when —

Lithuania cleared her throat and ran a hand tiredly through her brown hair. "I think that my time in the sun is long over. I'm exhausted, and I'm frail, and my nerves are shot and I'm in so much _pain_, and I have moments where I'm so utterly terrified of the smallest things. But I know that I'm still me. I'm...not at my best right now, but I haven't lost the fundamentals that I always had. I still believe the same things I always did. I've managed to keep my language alive, to keep my religion going even in the face of the Soviet regime, to still have a land full of children who continue to proudly call themselves Lithuanian."

All Ludwig's Darwinian thoughts went straight out the window. So strange; he had barely felt all of Toris's struggling and feeble attempts at physically fighting back on that day when he had first gone over her house and dragged her out of it, but the words she had just spoken…they impaled his heart.

"And even though I'm starting to lose all of that now, it's really only been in the last few decades that things have been taking a turn for the horrific. In the early days with Russia, once I'd swallowed my pride and stopped risking my people's lives with doomed rebellions, I actually had moments where I was quite happy to be under his roof."

_ What?! How__** could**__ you be?_ Then Ludwig remembered. _Oh. Right. You're in love with the sadistic maniac. _

_ "_Being conquered isn't nice — it's humiliating and it stings painfully — but it isn't the worst thing in the world either, not if you know that your people are relatively protected, and if the person you're living with..."

_ Is your lover? _Ludwig finished silently, expecting Toris to lend voice to the thought.

But the Baltic didn't. Instead she swayed a little on her feet before coming over and settling back down on the settee, wrapping herself tightly in her blanket and shaking her head.

_ Ah, of course. _

Toris didn't know he knew. She had never outright verbally admitted to him that she loved Ivan, it had just been so obvious that it had been impossible to miss. Now that he thought about it, Ludwig supposed it _would_ feel incredibly awkward to confess your love for a person to that person's worst enemy, especially when said person was prone to physically and mentally abusing you. Likely for the same reason she hadn't brought up the existence of Vanis.

Well, that, and she was probably trying to keep him safe. Lech too.

"I think the only thing that I'm so very scared of is what will happen to my children. I don't think I want to leave them all alone now, when they're so misguided and full of hate. But you never know how things will turn out. I've already been wiped off the map once before, when the Commonwealth was partitioned, and I still managed to hold on, just and no more. I'm not as resilient now as I was, but you never know, right?" She shook her head again, in a way that plainly said that she didn't believe in her own professed optimism for a single moment.

"I'm going off at a tangent, aren't I, Sir?" There was no real joy in the laugh that followed. "You'll have to forgive the ramblings of an old woman."

Ludwig blinked, taken aback for a moment by how absurd that sounded coming from the mouth of someone who appeared the same age as himself — 19 or 20 years old.

But appearances could be so very, _very_ deceiving.

Toris looked to Ludwig solemnly. "And you know, seventy really isn't such a small number. You still have enough years behind you to hold onto some wisdom and to have established your moral tenets. I don't think you'll ever become so callous, or such a monster. Just don't let things fall by the wayside...because things are really going to get rough over the next few years. Don't fall into the trap of thinking that it would hurt less if you didn't care any more."

"I won't," Ludwig promised, "I _do _care. I've been punished for it, and…" He winced at the sincerity in his voice. "…a part of me wishes I _didn't_ care, because it _would _hurt less. But I can't help it. It's part of who I am: a good, shining part of me that I feel extremely protective of and don't ever want to lose, even when I can't fully explain why." He gazed pensively into the fire.

"You know, back when I was little, I wanted so much to be the good guy — an awesome white knight like Prussia who vanquished evil and protected the good and innocent. Then I lost my own innocence, and I can barely remember those days now. The world didn't work the way I thought it did. It was far more complex with blurry morality and subjective labels. What's good, what's evil — it all depends on who you ask. I enjoy warfare and conquest. To me it's the ultimate high-stakes contest for land, resources, and power in which only the strongest survive and prosper. It's also a good way to get revenge on those who deserve it. But that doesn't mean I like suffering or cruelty." He turned and looked Toris straight in the eye, sorrow and weariness worrying his normally austere features. "I don't want you to die, Toris. I never did. Most of the countries under my rule right now…I just want to dominate them. Alright. Enslave and exploit them. It's my boss that wants to wipe them out." An awkward lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed past it. "With you…with you it's a little different. I like having you under my control, but…"

_Why am I admitting this?!_

Surprising himself, he shook his head and looked away, his cheeks heating faintly with tightly-controlled embarrassment. "Nevermind."

Silence.

His head still turned away, Ludwig peeked at Toris out of his peripheral.

Not surprisingly, his almost-confession had gotten the smaller country curious. She was staring at him with big, inquisitive eyes that held a childlike innocence. Ludwig could almost hear her saying _'But what?'_

"I...don't quite follow." Lithuania admitted after a few more seconds had slipped by. "But it's all right."

Simultaneously relieved and, paradoxically, a little disappointed, Ludwig faced his servant once more, the faint blush that had tinted his cheeks fading away. He opened his mouth to speak, but Toris was quicker.

"I understand that you're not cruel, and I understand that you're not responsible for your boss' actions. And I hope that you understand that if things go..." She flinched, and Ludwig immediately knew where this was headed. "...um..._wrong_ in the future, and if I'm not around to tell you this, then you should know that I won't blame you personally, Ludwig."

Ludwig nodded slightly to show that he understood, his blue eyes once again full of sorrow. Because he could not, at the moment, think of anything to say, he took a sip of his rum-laced hot chocolate.

Toris looked back at the fire. "There's no shame in seeing the human side of the countries you conquer," she said gently. "It doesn't make you weak."

Then, all of a sudden, the Baltic said something so utterly unexpected that Ludwig nearly choked on his cocoa.

"I like you, Ludwig."

_ You…like me?_ The Nazi's mind flashed back to his first meeting with Feliciano, how the Italian had been quick to so freely and honestly express his emotions as he felt them. Toris had just echoed him word for word.

As he stared at her with an almost childlike awe, Toris's eyes found his, and he was shocked by the amount of true, genuine caring he saw shining within them.

"I don't like the fact that you've taken my freedom away, and I don't like what your boss is doing to my people, but I can see a lot of good in you, taking all of that out of the equation. This isn't a good situation for me, but I don't resent you for it. I even don't mind taking care of your house for you." She sighed. "There are a lot of things which upset me and disturb me at the moment, but my lack of animosity towards my captor is not one of them. Maybe I should be a little less passive, but if we're talking on a personal level...then you dragged me out of that kitchen when you could have just as easily left me behind, and then you took care of me when you could have easily just locked me in a cell somewhere and left me to heal the painful way. You could have made unreasonable demands, you could have taken out your frustrations on me, you could have made my life miserable, but you didn't. And maybe that's a sign that years with Ivan has lowered my standards..." She laughed softly, and then looked instantly apologetic. "But regardless. It meant a lot to me."

Ludwig was at a loss for words. For the next few moments he sat in silence, balancing his mug on the edge of his knee with one hand, touched. The faintest signs of happiness started to emerge on his countenance, and his eyes almost watered up again, but this time he was successful in reigning the emotion in. "Danke," he said, then, unsure whether or not Toris understood that, he added "I mean, thank you."

_Wait! I actually __**thanked**__ her?!_

Ludwig winced guiltily, a big, fat blanket of awkwardness falling over him. "I mean….I appreciate that. You being grateful and…understanding….and all." His words were halting and clumsy, and together with his light, off-guard tone of voice, embarrassed him. He was torn between the urge to get up and dig himself further into the humiliating hole of weakness he'd started digging himself into by hugging Toris and wishing the earth would open up and swallow him. A fragile smile made its way to his lips, the most genuine one that had come to him all evening. "It means a lot to me too." He clarified in a soft half-whisper, a warmth that did not originate from either his drink or the fire rising up inside him.

"Bitte schön." Toris replied simply.

So she _did _know some German.

The near-silence that fell over the room right then was pregnant with sobriety. The crackling of the fire and the quiet sounds of aspiration were the only noises to be heard.

Ludwig didn't mind. Tomorrow he would again be busy, but tonight — tonight he had all the time in the world. For now, all he wanted — _needed_ — was someone to listen to him, someone understanding who was slow to judge and quick to forgive. A friend. Toris.

_God, are we really…friends?_

Yes. He realized right then, somewhere within that stretch of silence, that they were.

Surprising himself, he got up and walked over to the brunette all cuddled up snuggly on his settee. Stopping in front of her, a self-conscious uncertainty flickered over his features. Quickly, before he had a chance to second-guess himself — and before emotion could overwhelm him — he bent over and embraced his friend in a clumsy, loose hug, patting her back very gently and leaning his head over the other nation's left shoulder. His cheek brushed lightly against Toris's, stirring something within him, something buried deep inside.

He let the hug linger for a few seconds before pulling away and dropping onto the settee right next to Toris. "Keep that a secret," he coughed purposely, "A secret between friends."

"Friends...?" Like so much else about her, Toris's innocent surprise was enduring.

Ludwig nodded faintly in response to the quasi-question, but Toris was already staring off into the fire again, deep in thought.

Was she having second thoughts about their friendship, or was her mind on one of the more morbid subjects they'd discussed earlier? She'd taken the news of large-scale Lithuanian cooperation with the Nazis in carrying out ruthless genocide against the Jews pretty badly. There was no way that wasn't still weighing on her mind and heart, combining with the thought of her own impending destruction and the question of what would happen to her and her 'children' after she had taken her last breath to crush her down into a black hole of ice-cold, utter despair.

_My god, that was a really depressing conversation._

But it felt so good to get his worries and fears off his chest, to voice them to _someone_ even if neither he nor they could do anything about them. Nothing had been fixed, but just knowing that Toris knew — that the little brunette sympathized with him and thought his heart was strong and in the right place, that she was suffering through some of the same pains, doubts, and sorrows himself — somehow made it all a little more bearable. He'd always deeply regret what he'd been forced to do, always loathe the merciless Nazi buried deep within him under layers of morality and self-control that occasionally poisoned his thoughts and tried to claw his way out to the surface. He couldn't change the past, nor could he stop the horrors happening in the present, but Toris had ignited a small flicker of hope within him: a candle-flame that burned weakly but beautifully in the darkness.

As long as he held on to who he was, he would never become a monster. And even if he couldn't make a difference on a grand scale, the little acts of goodness he did here and there — saving the lives of a pair of Jewish children, discouraging senseless cruelty amongst his soldiers, playing blind and dumb in the name of mercy, comforting a heartbroken friend who was currently bound to serve him — they weren't all in _vain_, he reminded himself. They mattered. They were meaningful. His well-timed rescue had meant the world to Arik and Nessa, and not only had he made Toris feel better, he felt better himself _because_ of it, in an odd, curious way that he couldn't even begin to describe.

Somewhere in the space of these thoughts Toris's hand found his. Thin, vaguely warm fingers curved around his own, giving them a delicate squeeze. Ludwig searched the other nation's face and found a little smile there.

"Your secret is safe with me, Sir..." Even though she was not looking directly at him, Toris dipped her head. "Please know that you can always come and talk to me, whenever things seem too much to...bottle up. It might help to have someone...neutral...to confide in. And I…I find myself a little starved for conversation these days, anyhow."

_ You're lonely?_ Ludwig had selfishly never considered that possibility, but now that he did it made sense. Toris was little more than a prisoner inside his house, and he didn't imagine she would find many sympathetic ears whenever necessity drove her to head out into the city for supplies.

A bolt of guilt shot through him, but for now the situation couldn't be helped much. This was the way it had to be…for Toris's own personal safety if nothing else. It would be much harder for Ivan to search for the Baltic in Germany than Lithuania.

"Thank you, Ludwig." Toris said suddenly, and the sincerity in her voice was all the more cause for guilt on her blonde oppressor's part, "It means a lot to me."

Ludwig's semi-smile turned into a real one, small but heartfelt, that reached to his eyes. Carefully moving his hand out from under Toris's, he gave his servant a friendly pat on the shoulder, and for the first time since they'd interacted the outward display of friendly affection flowed naturally and lacked any semblance of awkwardness. "I'm glad I could help." he said kindly, making a conscious effort to take most of the inherent not-always-mood-related hostility out of his voice, "After all you've done for me, it's the least I can offer. I'll try to come by more often and talk to you. And…and in the meantime, don't worry about using up too much coal. Use as much as you need to stay comfortable. So long as you don't constantly keep the house at, say, 27 degrees I really don't care." Being that Toris was a little on the masochistic side, he doubted she'd always keep the house at a comfortable temperature anyway, but he'd give her that option. He was a powerful and prosperous nation: he could afford it.

His hand still resting atop Toris's shoulder, a steely determination entered his voice as he said "And I promise you, I'll do everything I can to keep you from…dissolving. I know that's not much of a comfort coming from Hitler's slave, but I'll try. I won't give up."

_I won't give up on my people, either._ he added silently, _**Any**__ of them. So long as I'm the spirit of Germany there's hope for them all._

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><p><strong>AN: **

_Bitte schön = you're very welcome_

_For all the American readers out there who may be wondering, the temperature of "27 degrees" Ludwig mentions is in Celsius — he's not pulling an Ivan. XD 27 degrees Celsius translates into about 81 degrees Fahrenheit_

_Aaaaand it could end there, but it doesn't! Still a few chapters to go before everything comes full-circle. _

_ALSO, I have a new poll up! The question is "Which of these non-nation background characters do you most hope to see again ( or for the first time ) before the story ends?"_

_Your choices are:_

_Lech ( Poland's son )_

_Vanis ( Son of Russia and Lithuania )_

_Schmitz ( The repentant[?] Nazi who is loyal to Ludwig above all others )_

_Other ( Please tell me in a review or PM! )_

_Arik and Nessa aren't available as choices because I consider them main characters, seeing as how many chapters they appear in and how much dialogue they have ( plus the primary plot of this fic revolves around them ). ^^_

_Visit my profile to cast your vote! _

_Happy Easter!_

**Anonymous Review Replies**

**Just Anothr Anon: **_I forgot to reply to you last chapter, so I'm doing it in this one. Thank you very much for the in-depth review! It always pleases me no end to hear that my writing has touched an emotional chord in someone, and you described in wonderful detail how the chapter made you feel and why. Your review gives me a better idea of what to do in the future every time I want to pluck that chord again. _

_Yes, you did spell the Krämers' surname right, and you're right about why killing them had the affect it did on Ludwig._

_And I am sorry to have kept you waiting for Prussia: I PROMISE he WILL be in the next chapter! There's no dancing around it, as it's vital to the plot. XD_

**Faenil: **_Replying to you here because the site wouldn't let me reply to your signed review with the button. Thank you very much! I'm glad you're enjoying the ride! _


	23. Stalingrad

_**A/N:** So sorry about the long wait for this chapter! Alas, my life has since gotten less crazy, and updates will be much more frequent from now on. Yay! ;)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 23<strong>

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><p><strong>October 25, 1942<strong>**  
><strong>

**Stalingrad, Russia**

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><p>The soles of the toes of Germany's boots hammered scarred, sooty earth and propelled him effortlessly through the debris-laden city. Burned-out vehicles and tanks, collapsed walls and roofs, massive heaps of rubble and garbage, parts of downed aircraft, junked weapons, broken glass and furniture, holes, ditches, ruptured pipelines — the fleet-footed country navigated them all with the urgent, flowing grace of a gazelle evading a predator, twisting, weaving, leaping, and dodging, drawn like a homing missile towards the shouts of his soldiers.<p>

Ahead! Movement in the German-held Sea Nymph Fountain trench! Khaki-tan and dark spring green uniforms flashed and whirled in a wild frenzy, their owners locked in brutal hand-to-hand combat.

That was all Ludwig needed to see. Reaching the lip of the trench, he didn't even wait the half-second it would take his racing brain to finish making sense of the visual information it was receiving before leaping straight into the middle of a small pack of Russians, MP-35 positioned strategically in his hands.

Most of his enemies never saw him coming, and the ones that did didn't have enough time to move even one step out of his way. His body hit two men on the way down, sending both stumbling backward. Feeling terra-firma once again solidly beneath his feet Ludwig immediately followed up with a real attack, twisting his torso and swinging his weapon as though it were a baseball bat and every man within range was the ball that he was determined to knock out of the park. There was a sickening '_crack_' as the barrel of the submachinegun broke the neck of the nearest soldier and thrust his dying body violently to the side where it collided with one of the two men that had been knocked off-balance. Fortunately for this 'comrade' he was forced to the ground almost instantly under his dead compatriot, sparing him the fate of the third soldier, who took a blow to the side of his head that smashed his skull in.

_ Two dead, three coming at me. _Ludwig noted mentally, spotting a fifth Russian several yards away racing towards him with a dagger drawn an instant before he pivoted to deal with the second soldier he'd knocked off-balance, the one who had evaded his improvised club and was now lunging at him with a bloody dagger and a mean scowl on his grizzled, bearded face.

Right.

Like he was really going to be able to get that blade anywhere near the flesh of one of the most powerful and militant nation spirits on earth.

_ I love it when you guys don't use guns. _Ludwig lashed out with his left hand and caught Beard Man's wrist, snapping it with a flick of his own. The soldier howled in pain and dropped his weapon. _Makes you so much easier to deal with. _Without missing a beat — and making only a half-hearted attempt to conceal his true strength — he flung the man into the young and sprightly Comrade Number Five, catching a freshly-risen Comrade Number Two in the process and sending all three sliding two or three meters through the dirt on their backs and sides.

Nowthathe had time to take full stock of his surroundings, Ludwig saw that the trench he was standing in was littered with the corpses of his and Russia's freshly-killed soldiers. To his right lay six or seven: to his left, four that he could see, counting the two he'd just slain. Some rested face-up, their unfocused eyes staring vacantly into the leaden afternoon sky, quite possibly the last thing they'd seen in life. Others lay on their stomachs with their faces in the dirt. Two were slumped up against the earthen walls in a reclined position, chins drooping over their chests. Blood gushed and flowed freely from deep gashes and stab wounds on necks, faces, chests, and hands, staining uniforms and forming muddy little pools on the ground.

Most of the dead were German. In fact, they outnumbered the Russian dead two-to-one.

Sorrow welled heavily in Ludwig's chest, the familiar ache no less dulled by the fact that this was a situation he'd faced many, many times before. _Verdammt, I'm too late_! Dispirited, he ran his eyes over the body of each fallen comrade in turn, searching for even the faintest glimmer of life, hoping against hope that he really wasn't the only living German within God knew how many meters of here.

Nothing.

Not so much as the cautious ebb and flow of breath.

_ But…but how can this be?! At least __**one**__ of my men was still alive a minute ago, I __**heard**__ him, __**saw**__ him __**fighting**_!

Yes, yes he was quite sure of it. And if the man had been alive a minute ago it was possible that he was still alive now: the three Russians he'd just bowled over were the last survivors of their little party, and only seconds had elapsed between this moment and the moment at which he'd arrived.

"Stay down!" he barked just in case, raising his weapon and taking aim at Beard Man, the first of his men's killers to get back on his feet. The big Russian was already reaching for his own firearm, but he was much too slow; Ludwig squeezed the trigger and swept the Maschinenpistole from side to side, spraying bullets like water at chest-level. All three targets went down hard and fast.

_ Now to make __**sure**__ you're dead. _Though he itched to give the all-clear and check more thoroughly for the possible survivor on his side, experience had taught Ludwig well the dangers of making hasty assumptions, especially where imprecise aiming was concerned. Though such instances were rare, regular humans had been known to survive close-range gunshot wounds, occasionally even to usually-lethal places like the head or neck. He lowered his Maschinenpistole and closed the short distance separating him from his fallen foes in two bounding strides.

Beard Man was definitely dead, his wide, burly chest shredded by bullets. His expression was stuck in a terrible grimace which embellished rugged, logger-esque features. Not a pretty sight.

Comrade Number Two was also dead, though his chest was less devastated. Thin and clean-shaven with a weasel-like face and beady eyes, he appeared to be a good ten years younger than Beard Man, perhaps twenty-five.

Comrade Number Five lay facedown on his stomach.

Frowning, Ludwig kicked him over with the steel toe of his boot, revealing the pale, ashen visage of a teenager who couldn't be older than eighteen at most.

A teenager who was most definitely _alive_. The boy gave a few wet, labored coughs and threw tan-gloved hands up in front of his face. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

Ludwig's eyebrows rose; he hadn't been expecting to hear German. "Ah, so you can talk," he taunted, his tone menacing. Not that that was going to help this Russian pig much, oh no. He was about to pay dearly for every German life he'd taken, every last drop of German blood he'd spilled. The Nazi general's eyes became glacial and merciless. He pointed his gun at the boy's face. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow your damn head off, _Ruesskie_."

The boy lowered his hands a few centimeters and gasped, startlingly blue eyes growing big and round with horror. "Bozheh moy! _Ruesskie Oobeetsyah_! You're the Russian Butcherer!"(1)

Ludwig cocked his head. One end of his mouth twitched up in a cruel little smirk. "Russian Butcherer, huh? I like that."

So the enemy had given him a moniker as well, not just Prussia. He'd figured it was only a matter of time before they did, before his impressive kill-count and/or seeming immunity to injury and death earned him a reputation.

No, what surprised Ludwig was the flood of familiarity that washed over him right then. He found himself staring at the tufts of fluffy hair poking out from under the boy's classic Red Army ushanka. They were the exact same shade of ash-blonde as Russia's.

_ Could you be…Vanis?_

No, no that was impossible. Though they were almost the right shade of blue, the boy's irises lacked the flaming, burning glow indicative of nation parentage, nor did staring into them have the effect of setting Ludwig's soul a-tingle with that special feeling of kindred magic and heightened sensitivity to nationality that all but filled his mind's eye with emotion-steeped images of foreign patriotism. Though he and his nation shared the same rare hair color and somewhat resembled one another, Comrade Number Five was definitely not Russia's son.

The young soldier trembled. "Please, General Herrmann. I don't want to die."

All the light went out of Ludwig's face. As Comrade Number Five watched, frozen with pain and fear, he gestured with his Maschinenpistole to the bodies of two German Schützen, one fallen atop the other. Both were within the same age range as Comrade Number Five. "You see them? _They _didn't want to die either." Before Comrade Number Five had time to react he raised his right foot and stomped down hard on his nose with the steeled heel of his boot.

The Sea Nymph Fountain trench was back under German control.

* * *

><p><strong>October 27th, 1942<strong>

* * *

><p>"Koch, take your best men and <em>recapture that flour mill!<em> Stein, Wolffs, Jäger! I want you four manning that tank!"

"Jawohl!" Leutnant Koch shot up out of his chair as though a live grenade had been tossed under it and straightened immediately into the picture of respect, heels coming together with an audible click as his right arm launched out in salute. He held the position for a moment, fixing Ludwig with a strong, steady gaze, his eyes conveying not only camaraderie but true courage and resolution: he would either retake the mill or die trying. Then he turned and raced off down the perforated, charred, debris-filled channel that was the inn's first-floor hall, the four soldiers that had accompanied him to this meeting in hot pursuit.

"Generaloberst Herrmann, do you mean _that _tank?" Jäger asked hesitantly, nodding towards a broken window through which a battle-worn Panzer IV could be seen partially protruding from a half-demolished building across the street.

"Ja."

"But Generaloberst," the older of the two Wolff brothers protested, "the tank is stuck in a muddy ditch. We've been trying to move it for days."

"It's not stuck anymore." Ludwig informed them, deliberately dodging the question of _how_ the tank had become unstuck. "Mobilize, orient forty-five degrees north of west, travel ten meters away from the building, and send a man back to me to receive your next orders. We're going to assist Kalley's squadron in the battle for the fish processing plant and surrounding riverfront."

"Jawohl!" The soldier saluted in the usual fashion, the rest of the tank crew following suit. With protocol satisfied and their orders clear they exited the lobby via the same path that Leutnant Koch and his men had taken, veering right instead of left in the hall.

Doing his best to ignore the annoyingly persistent ache in his back that had come from getting knocked off the roof of a three-story building yesterday and landing on a pile of hard, jagged rubble, as well as the constant gnawing hunger he had to endure every time he set foot in this godforsaken city and the fact that he would really, _really_ rather be sleeping than mounting an offensive right now, Ludwig addressed the fifty-five men besides himself who still remained in the rather-crowded lobby and adjacent rooms. "Alright, let's get this done. We're going to hit the plant hard and fast in three waves, one after another, from three different directions. Foss! Schäfer!"

The Oberfähnrich and Stabsfeldwebel stepped forward expectantly.

"I want _you_," Ludwig pointed to Foss. "over _there_" His finger sliced the air and came to rest pointing at the front left corner of the room. "And _you_," He pointed to Schäfer. "over _there_." He flicked his digit to indicate the opposite corner, back right. The men scrambled to their new locations. "Foss? You're in command of Wave Two. Schäfer? Wave Three. I will lead Wave One. Vargas?"

The Italian perked up at the sound of his surname. These last three days had been especially brutal for all of them, yet somehow he remained in relatively good spirits, smiling, starting friendly, light-hearted conversations, and buoying the moral of everyone around him. All on less than six-hundred calories a day and less than five hours' sleep per night. Ludwig didn't know how he did it. "You're with me." Italy performed best under his direct supervision, and while he was possibly an even worse fighter than Latvia and could at times be a liability his superhuman attributes did come in handy, mainly his endurance and blinding speed.

That is, when he A) bothered to _use_ his speed, and B) used it for something other than running away.

Italy nodded once to show he'd heard, the command a mere formality as Germany very, very seldomly assigned him to other groups.

_ Hmn. He's more focused than usual today. Hope this lasts._

Normally Italy had the attention-span of a gnat, especially when it came to combat and warfare in general. That he had suddenly decided to take his role as a soldier more seriously was an odd, welcome change. Perhaps he'd finally realized what was at stake, that he and Germany stood to lose more than pride and their hard-fought-for resources if the Axis started losing ground.

Having knocked out the special assignments, Ludwig continued. "Everyone else will be numbered off. Numbers two and three will move to the appropriate group. Number ones will remain where they stand." He walked over to the man furthest to the left and began strategically counting his subordinates off, visualizing with crystal clarity each Wave, the direction from which it would strike the plant, and the specific role it would play in the assault.

Ramrod-straight, humorless, and utterly silent, the soldiers could have passed for grim statues in military garb if not for the light in their eyes and the speed at which they moved upon receiving a "two" or "three" designation. Like the vast majority of the Sixth Army they were tired, sore, and hungry, but able. Many were still nursing injuries from previous battles and incidences. Though he could not read their minds Ludwig could sense their unwavering trust and confidence in him and his plan, and though it was a feeling to which he had become accustomed it never ceased to send a flood of warmth through him, inject some much-needed cheer and hope into his heavy heart.

Trust, loyalty, obedience, intelligence, tenacity, diligence, orderliness, courage, dignity, and a deep respect for rules and the chain of command _paired _with the ability to recognize and fully appreciate sound leadership? Ludwig felt spoiled, especially after having to deal with his fellow High Commanders and the obedient, yet not-entirely-trustworthy SS Einsatzgruppen. Of course, if Weiss's Einsatzgruppe were to work with him for more than a few hours and _especially _if they were to fight alongside him in combat he was willing to bet they'd change their tune, and if the highest circle of the High Command ( with the exception of Heydrich, who had died in a hospital in Prague nearly five months prior after the injuries he'd sustained in an ambush by Czech rebels had gone septic ) were to join him here in Stalingrad perhaps even a few of _them _would come to respect and appreciate him more, though he wouldn't hold his breath.

There. Everyone had a number.

Ludwig returned to his spot in front of the inn's main entrance. "Your selection for each Wave wasn't random: Wave One consists primarily of those with the most experience firing rockets, mortars, and grenade launchers; Wave Two, those most experienced in operating as part of a tank crew; Wave Three those who are, in my judgment, most adept to small arms, breaching, and close combat. Once all three Waves are in position around the plant…" He balled his left hand into a fist and held it out in the air in front of him to provide a visual reference. "Wave One will strike first, from due south…" His flat right hand came up vertically under his fist, stopping just shy of touching it. "pulverizing tanks and fortifications and engaging enemy batteries. Five minutes after this attack has commenced, Wave Two will strike from the west-"

He stopped cold mid-sentence, the heavy buzz of rapidly-approaching aircraft reaching his ears over the usual shrieking, booming, and rat-tat-tatting din of battle. _Scheiße._

Those engines…he knew their sound, knew it well. These planes were neither German nor friendly.

_ Russian Yak-9s. Great. Because I really wanted to be dealing with _this _right now. _No time was ever a _good _time to be attacked by enemy aircraft, but why the hell couldn't the Soviets have held off for a couple more hours, given him the chance to capture the fish processing plant and get a nice, sturdy battery of anti-aircraft guns set up on and around it?

Now he was going to have to blast all of these out of the sky, costing him the element of surprise and possibly his triple wave plan. The frown on his face deepened.

He began to speak, but before he could finish the first syllable the door behind him burst open and Jäger dashed in shouting, eyes wide and wild with excitement. "Generaloberst Herrmann! SOVIET AIRSTRIKE!"

"TO THE FLAKS! MOVEMOVEMOVE!" Though Jäger had been pretty loud Ludwig outdid him in both volume and urgency. Pulse quickening, he sped out the open door and immediately spotted the squadron of planes that was coming straight toward them: unless they either changed course or were shot down they'd be directly overhead in minutes. "EVERYONE! AIRSTRIKE COUNTERATTACK POSITIONS!"

While his men scrambled to obey Ludwig lost no time in running over and ensconcing himself in the right seat of one of the two Flakvierling-38s waiting at either corner of the building. Within moments he was surrounded by a full crew, his fellow Germans slipping into place around him.

_ Wait for it, wait for it… _Bare fingers threaded around cold metal, Ludwig targeted the leader of the squadron, lining the plane up in his sights and keeping a steady bead on it as it traveled towards them. Thankfully the expanse of sky ahead was choked with thick clouds which hid the morning sun, otherwise aiming at low-altitude planes approaching from a very eastwardly direction would have been much more difficult.

Closer, closer…

Ludwig stretched a foot out for the pedal trigger to of his set of canons, applied a very slight amount of pressure to it. Body tense with anticipation, gaze hyper-focused and predatory, his demeanor was not unlike that of a crouched cat preparing to pounce on an unwary bird.

Several yards off to his right, the crew of the other Flak-38 waited for his command along with those manning other anti-aircraft weapons.

Just a little bit closer…

BAANNG! BAANNG! BAANNG! RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

The squadron's cannons and machineguns blazed to life!

"FIRE! BRING THOSE PLANES DOWN_**! BRING THEM DOWN!**_"

Almost in unison over a dozen more autocannons and machineguns went off, sending several shells and streams of bullets into the dreary sky. The resulting shockwaves were deafening; everything and everyone within range vibrated with the weapons' power. The engine of the plane Ludwig had fired on exploded into flames a second before half of its left wing broke off.

_ Got you! _

However, the little rush of pleasure that came with having made the first kill was short-lived — the rest of the Yak-9s were closer than ever, and spitting mad. The _ping_sand_ chink_s of bullets ricocheting off metal joined in the hellish cacophony as the entire area erupted into a two-way storm of projectiles and explosions.

Most of the details faded swiftly into the back of Ludwig's mind. The roar and flash of gunfire, the hustle of his men as they moved, aimed, fired, and reloaded; the shouts of the injured; the screeching whistles and heavy booms of rockets, grenades, shells, and bombs; the white jets and black plumes of smoke; the way the earth shook under the punishment; the geysers of brown-black dirt; the soon-to-be-overpowering smell of fire and spent gunpowder; the pain in his back.

All distractions.

All useless.

He tuned them out.

All that mattered were the enemy planes.

As he and the other gunner on the crew reloaded, the tracker seamlessly made adjustments to the Flak-38's elevation and direction to keep them centered on the heart of the squadron. As luck would have it he put Ludwig almost right on top of not one, but _two_ planes.

_ Perfect. _With the lightning speed and precision that only came from several weeks of continuous repetition and experience, the nation spirit singled the easier target out, got the engine in his sights, and floored the footpedal.

By sheer coincidence the little grey-and-white plane banked sharply to its right at the exact moment he fired — most pilots understood the danger of flying on a straight and predictable trajectory through a war zone and avoided it as much as possible — but the maneuver didn't save it. In escaping Ludwig's stream of shells it flew straight into someone else's and exploded into a spectacular fireball.

One less plane to worry about.

No, _four_ less! One plane began to drop, engine belching black smoke, while two more went spinning out of control towards the ground trailing streamers of smoke and fire, wings and tails shredded and/or missing.

Flashes of white!

The sudden movement triggered Ludwig's kill reflex: though he knew well what they looked like, he recognized the objects as the classic white sails of parachutes only when he had his autocannon trained on one and was a hair's width away from firing on it.

So.

Three of five pilots had managed to leap out of their destroyed aircraft.

Stupid.

Pointless.

If they actually thought they had a snowball's chance in Hell of reaching the ground with a pulse they were ridiculously naïve and gravely mistaken.

Ludwig took a deep breath, then shouted at the top of his lungs. "MACHINEGUNNERS! GET THE PARACHUTERS! DON'T LET THEM REACH THE GROUND ALIVE!" He probably didn't need to give that command, as from the very beginning of this campaign the Sixth Army had never been known _not_ to kill Soviet soldiers on sight, but it never hurt to err on the side of caution and make absolutely sure that everyone was on the same page and that no one who wielded armor-piercing, explosive shells wasted them on humans.

The surviving planes scattered, avoided flying directly overhead. The gunners followed them to the best of their ability.

Ludwig was in the midst of reloading when a hand caught his wrist and pulled it away.

"Germany! You've got to stop them!" The fast, high-pitched voice belonged to one very distraught Feliciano. Though both of them could speak each other's national language fairly fluently Italy had, as usual, used Shaykomay, the language which they could most easily and comfortably converse in.

"No shit!" Ludwig snapped in the same language, annoyed. He jerked his hand away from the auburn-haired country and gave him a scorching glare. "What the hell do you think I'm _trying_ to do, waste ammunition?! You know, if you want them stopped so badly then why don't you pick up a firearm and-"

"Not the Soviets!" Italy insisted, aghast. "Your men! They're killing the parachuters!"

_ What?! _Surprise shot across Ludwig's face; he could _not_ be hearing this right. Surely Italy didn't mean what he thought he meant.

"Yes, they're doing exactly what I told them to-"

"But _Germany!_" Italy's voice became desperate, pleading. He looked so impossibly young and innocent right then, like a barely-eighteen-year-old fresh recruit confronted for the first time with the harsh realities of war and battle. His face was torn up with the half-healed cuts from the glass of the window that had exploded as he'd walked by it last night, but these injuries did nothing to hide the sorrow which shadowed his soft, child-like features. His warm amber eyes shone with concern. "They are helpless!"

"Oh? Would it be better if they were able to kill us on their way to the ground?" Ludwig asked point-blankly. He shouldn't have to explain this, not to a nation much older than himself who had already fought in several battles and at least one other major war. Yet here he was, doing just that. "I know you hate to kill, Italy, but this is war and _**we have to**_. Those guys up there?" He gestured quickly to the parachuters. "They aren't civilians. They're enemy soldiers. If we don't kill them before they land they'll scurry off to their comrades, arm themselves, and resume killing our men first chance they get. Why should we allow this? Do you _want _more of our people to die? Do you _want _to lose this battle?"

Italy shook his head. "Of course I don't. But Germany, they might not rush off and start killing again as quickly as you think. They might remember that we fought fair and with honor, that we spared their lives even when it would have been so easy to kill them, and in the future when it's _our_ troops falling from planes they might return our kindness and spare _their_ lives. Our men will remember that and spare them again in the future, then theirs again after that, and before you know it we're _all_ fighting more honorably, like back in the Great War."

The whole time Italy was speaking the roar of airplane engines grew steadily louder against the thunderous background; those that had survived both the initial attack and their detour around Ludwig's platoon were coming back for another strike. Like the Germans they understood how crucial control over the Volga river was to success, knew that every strip of riverbank they lost would make it that much harder for them to keep their side fed and supplied while simultaneously making the same tasks easier for the enemy. And even if they didn't know Ludwig's specific plan, that his platoon was large enough and close enough to precariously-as-it-was Russian-held riverfront to be a serious threat to their grip on it was obvious.

Out of the corner of his eye Ludwig caught the Gefreiter in the seat next to him looking to him with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety, clearly hoping he would hurry up and finish his secret conversation with the somehow-special Italian so the rest of the crew could spin the Flak-38's base and resume firing on the enemy.

He didn't blame him — if roles were reversed he'd be at least a little miffed with his commanding officer right now no matter how much he respected and looked up to him. The middle of a battle was the worst possible time and place for chit-chat.

A clipped sigh rushed past his lips. "Italy, I don't have time for this. You _know_ I prefer to fight honorably, and if we were fighting the French, or the English, or anyone _civilized_ I would have given the order to spare the parachuters, but these swine have proven time and again that they are incapable of fighting with any honor or decency and that any acts of chivalry or mercy on our part are wasted on them."

"But Germany, you're actually the only German soldier I've ever seen sho-"

"PICK UP A WEAPON AND JOIN THE BATTLE!" Ludwig roared. Feliciano jerked back as though he'd taken a swing at him, his expression three parts surprise and one part real, genuine fear. "Prove your usefulness!"

He didn't like having to put on his 'scary' face and yell at his best friend as though he were a stranger, some screw-up greenhorn whom he barely knew, but yelling got results, and results were all that mattered right now. He got up out of his seat to help turn the base, and his conscience squirmed a little at the flash of sorrow and disappointment he caught on Italy's marred face a moment before the latter turned and sprinted for the open door of the inn.

The discomfort quickly passed. _Weak, sniveling coward. If it weren't for me he wouldn't be able to tie his own shoes. At least he'll be easy to conquer if he and his suck-up boss ever decide to double-cross me._

For their sakes they'd better not.

The Flak-38's base pivoted with ridiculous ease — it had, after all, been designed to be moved by ordinary humans — and the quadruplet canons with their massive attached shield were pointed in the opposite direction almost instantly.

Very fortunate, as 'almost instantly' turned out to be just _barely_ enough time to protect the crew from the fresh stream of bullets heading their way. Ludwig finished reloading and was about to sight out his next target when, out of the corner of his eye, something moved where nothing _should _be moving.

_ …the hell? _He whipped his head to the right and found himself staring through a broken window up on the fourth floor of the five-story apartment building across the street. A Russian with long blonde hair stood to one side of the charred, jagged frame, one of her eyes and part of her face hidden behind the scope and barrel of the sniper rifle which she had pointed at him.

Had he been human, it would have been the last sight Ludwig ever saw.

There was no sound.

No time to think or even blink.

The briefest shock of pain, then nothing. Everything went black, and the next thing the spirit of Germany knew he was waking up in the Führer's bed with a dull pain radiating around his nose and sinuses and the bullet that had killed him nestled snugly between a pillow and the back of his neck like a sarcastic good luck charm.

* * *

><p>Traveling as far as he dared by airplane and then by his own two feet ( he didn't want to risk losing the plane enroute, and he was far more useful to his troops on the ground ), it took Ludwig just over six hours to return to Stalingrad once he left Berlin. When he got there he was unable to reach his last position right away, and it was only after a couple more days had gone by that he learned the fate of his platoon: they'd lost a third of their number the day he'd died, with another three men wounded too severely to fight. In spite of this they'd gone ahead with a modified version of the Triple Wave plan and, together with Kalley's forces, had succeeded in taking the fish processing plant.<p>

Indeed and truly his soldiers were the finest in the world, and Germany was very proud of them.

However, as was usually the case when he died in the heat of battle, his sudden disappearance and subsequent reemergence — seemingly unharmed, in another area — had demanded an explanation. Those who had been fighting alongside him at the time were sure he was dead, that the enemy had either taken his body or captured him alive and killed him shortly thereafter, and news traveled fast, particularly as it pertained to those of extremely high rank. Knowing that a good cover-up was in order to keep everyone from thinking he'd simply abandoned his platoon and run away, Ludwig had had to get creative.

Coming up with a story had been easy: capture by the Red Army nicely explained his missing-in-action status and how he could have wound up in another part of the city without any of his men seeing him travel there. Admittedly it was a bit of a stretch to think that the Reds wouldn't have beaten or otherwise harmed him after taking him prisoner, but not so unbelievable as to expose the lie.

No, the hard part had come in the form of the supporting details. Since he was healthy, strong, vital, and very clearly uninjured, for the Reds to capture him he would have had to have either gone off on his own somewhere and been ambushed, or been the only survivor of an ambush. Inventing a story where he had not been alone when he had been ambushed would have created far more holes than it covered, as obviously he could not claim that everyone in his platoon who had died had been with him, and it'd be way too easy for the survivors to debunk. So he'd went the solo route, and coming up with a plausible reason why he would have gone off on his own, even for a short distance, had been difficult. But in the end he'd managed, and his men all either bought it or went along with it.

Surely those who had survived being in the city for the last few months were beginning to wonder though: this was the third time General Herrmann had turned up missing and been thought dead.

How did Russia explain his death trips? Had he ever claimed to have been captured by Germans?

Probably. It was a blow to any nation's pride, but sometimes the only way out of a sticky situation.

By and by Germany fought his way back to the Volga and reunited with Italy, who in his absence had deferred to the next highest-ranking German before transferring to a unit containing more of his own people. In true Feliciano fashion he hadn't held on to any hard feelings over the bitter note their last interaction had ended on; quite the contrary, he acted as though none of it had happened and couldn't have been happier to see him. Sometimes Ludwig still found himself in awe of just how easygoing and eager to forgive and forget he could be. Negative events and situations bothered him, yes, but he didn't dwell on them. He simply felt what he felt and then moved on, continued to smile and play and laugh and trust and _love_ even when the world gave him a thousand reasons not to, continued to find the light in even the darkest moments, the good in every bad. It would be admirable if it wasn't too foolish for words. Such a trusting, forgiving nature and tendency to take everything at face value made one incredibly easy to trick and exploit, to manipulate, invade, and subjugate. A carefree lifestyle came at the expense of ambition and vigilance, leaving one unproductive and vulnerable to economic hardship and enemy attack. No wonder Italy had spent so much time living as a servant in the houses of stronger, more dominant nations. Not only did he lack military might, he and his people simply hadn't wanted freedom and independence badly enough to take all of the necessary steps to acquire and maintain it. While most Italians didn't take it to the extremes their nation spirit did, Ludwig had noticed that, in general, they were a rather lazy and complacent people, taking whatever came easiest and shying away from anything that looked like hard work.

The next three weeks felt like months and were characterized by death, suffering, brutality, misery, and hardship. The Russians' persistence and ferocity were unreal. Red Army soldiers and even some of Stalingrad's civilians fought bitter, bloody battles with the Wehrmacht over every individual room of a house, flat, or building, so that it was not at all uncommon for Germans and Russians to occupy different floors and/or rooms and/or sides of the same factory at the same time, for a two-story house to host one group of soldiers on the first floor and their enemies on the second. No room was too small or inconsequential, no length gone to to keep Germans out of it too insane. Though nighttime tended to be safer than daytime the Sixth Army was attacked incessantly, round the clock, through traps, thievery, and sabotage as well as armed conflict. Never before had Ludwig fought an enemy so absolutely hellbent on driving him off its land: half the Russians he went up against fought as though they believed they possessed the same immortality and supernatural abilities he did, the other as though they had rabies. They made him pay in blood and lives for every square meter of land he took, forced him and his soldiers to live and fight like hunted animals. If they were going to take Stalingrad they were damn well going to _earn_ it.

Ludwig and every Axis troop within three kilometers of him had it the worst. The need to concentrate on the Volga and its riverside property brought with it the greatest danger of all: Russia himself. With Moscow no longer under the immediate threat of invasion and Stalingrad being not only one of his most important cities, but his boss's _namesake_ city, of course he was going to be here fighting to the death in defense of it. Of course he would concentrate his efforts on acquiring and holding the same strategically important areas as Germany, all the more so if he happened to catch wind that a certain blonde and frighteningly lethal and resilient German general was in the area. Their encounters were usually short and brutal with more bullets exchanged than words; Ludwig attacked Ivan on sight and did not stop until either he had killed him or been killed by him, and Ivan did the same with him. There was no fair play, no backing down or running away, and no warning. Each sought to kill the other as quickly as possible, knowing full well that whoever died first left his soldiers alone to deal with a superhuman foe until he was able to return for a rematch.

To Ludwig's dismay it turned out that they were even in not only physical strength, but skill and cunning as well. He won only half of his battles with Ivan and wasn't able to ambush-kill him any more often than Ivan did him. At the onset of the invasion he had loved the challenge, relished fighting such a powerful, formidable enemy, one whom he could feel especially proud of himself for beating, whose defeat would earn him serious bragging rights on the international stage. And on some level he still did, but as time wore on it began to feel more like a chore than the ultimate high-stakes contest of mind, body, and skill.

No matter how often he killed him Russia just kept coming back for more, powerful and enraged as ever.

Kill or be killed. Rest. Rinse. Repeat.

Only once did Russia ever try to capture him, and though he remained ever vigilant for an opportunity to capture Russia, no such opportunities presented themselves.

During all of this a young woman with long blonde hair appeared and disappeared like an apparition in the ruins of the city, moving like a shadow through gutted out buildings and over rooftops, across streets and behind corners. She never revealed any part of her body for more than the briefest snatch of time, and often it was only the flash of her sniper scope in the sunlight or a chance glance in the right direction at the right moment that gave her away. Though he could not be certain, Ludwig had a strong feeling that this was the woman who had killed him. He was at a loss to explain why — it wasn't as if he had gotten a very good look at her face, and there had to be hundreds of blonde women in Stalingrad.

She appeared to be hunting him, so if she really _was_ his late October assassin the amount of courage coursing through her veins was impressive. Even with a sniper scope of below-average magnifying power she still would have seen every detail of his face at the distance from which she'd shot him, especially since he'd looked right at her, meaning there was no way she didn't recognize him.

Intriguing.

He'd be sure to get close before dealing the death blow to that one. He wanted to look upon her face while she was still alive, see just what kind of woman knowingly pursued immortals as her prey. Hopefully his men wouldn't kill her before he got the chance.

* * *

><p><strong>November 21, 1942<strong>

* * *

><p>"That was fun." Gilbert said cheerfully, kneeling down beside the body of one of his kills. "Thirty-two men in…" He paused to check his watch. "six minutes. Not bad. Not great, but not bad." He began wiping his SS ceremonial dagger clean on the dead man's uniform.<p>

"Are you _sure_ no one escaped?" Ludwig asked in Shaykomay, "And no one on the outside saw us?" He looked around anxiously, scrutinizing every window and door within sight, all the while keeping an eye out for any twitch of life in the sea of corpses he and his brother stood in the middle of.

Two countries utilizing one hundred percent of their true strength, speed, and agility against thirty-two Red Army soldiers inside a single-story factory — it had been a massacre. The smell of fresh blood and gore hung heavily in the air, mixed with the equally as strong scents of gasoline, gunpowder, and smoke to create the familiar aroma of battle.

"Positive," came Gilbert's confident reply, also in Shaykomay. "We came in through the only entry, remember? No one got past me, so unless someone got past _you_ there are no survivors. All of the windows are boarded up and the holes in the wall leave a lot to the imagination. Anyone outside would need X-ray vision to see what we did in here."

Ludwig frowned. "There could be another exit we don't know of. We should secure the area before doing anything else."

"Pfft, you worry too much." Gilbert rose and made a few expert slashes in the air with his blade, slashes that would turn the best knife fighters in the world green with envy. "Let's say someone _did_ escape. Do you really think anyone besides Russia himself is going to believe that two Germans slaughtered thirty-two fully armed Russian soldiers using only daggers and brute strength? They'll attribute it to either delirium or fanciful exaggeration the way they always do."

Ludwig's eyes went to his own dagger, red and dripping in his right hand. He wished he could feel that confident. "Perhaps, but this is no ordinary battle. It's too prolonged…we keep surviving too much, healing too quickly, getting too lucky. At least ten of our men have seen me die. Actually _witnessed _it. With only two or three it's easy enough to convince them they must have been mistaken — battle can really mess with a person's mind. But ten? And then I have to keep making up stories to explain my sudden disappearances, ones that don't make me look like a coward and a deserter-"

Gilbert snorted. "Believe me, you're not the only one. My troops are always asking where I'm at, wondering why I'm always vanishing into thin air. _'Where were you, Beilschmidt?'_" he recited, his voice going into a deep rumble in imitation of one such troop, his face twitching and twisting to recreate the expression that had gone with the question. "_'We could have really used you!' _or" His pitch rose to an octave above his normal speaking voice in imitation of another. "_'But I __**saw **__you fall! No one could have survived that!' _or, my personal favorite," He exaggerated the desperation which entered his tone, acted out his next lines in a select accent. "_'Whatever you're on, I'll do anything for a few grams. I mean it, __**anything**__.'_ I've had to get crazily creative — you can only be captured by the enemy and ordered back to Berlin for mandatory meetings so many times before the ability to suspend disbelief starts to disintegrate."

Ludwig shook his head slowly, inspected his blood-spattered uniform. "Gilbert, we can only keep up the charade for so long before everyone puts two and two together. We need to be more careful, more low profile."

"Low profile?" Gilbert scoffed, sliding his dagger back into the sheath affixed to his belt. "Ludwig, we're fucking _generals_. Even if we hadn't made names for ourselves as 'The White Demon' and 'The Russian Butcherer' — even if I wasn't Göring's right-hand man and you weren't an official member of the High Command — we would _still_ be high profile. Extremely high profile. Believe me, I want to keep our secrets secret just as much as you do, but you have to remember that many of the men who have seen too much will die within a few days or weeks whether we like it or not. A few rumors won't hurt us — quite the contraire, mein kleinen Bruder, they're _helping_ us. Did you see the looks on these guys' faces when they saw who they were up against?"(2) His pale face split with a shamelessly conceited grin. "They were scared shitless from the moment we walked in. And we all know what happens to those who panic."

Yes, Ludwig knew. Of the few men who'd had much of a chance to engage him minutes ago at least three had become so overwhelmed by fear that they had forgotten how to use their weapons properly, and one or two more had either forgotten or honestly never learned even the most basic lessons of hand-to-hand combat. They hadn't even been able to run away well; one man, in his haste to escape Gilbert, had run straight into Ludwig's waiting blade and gotten sliced from neck to navel for his efforts. The most cowardly of the lot had bolted underneath a desk and curled into the fetal position as though he were dealing with an earthquake rather than an enemy attack. Panic had a way of doing that to people, of temporarily robbing them of the ability to remember life-saving information at crucial moments and shutting down all the good sense in their brains so that they acted with the same blind, frenzied desperation of a deer whose haunches were caught in the claws of a big cat. He'd seen it many times in the heat of battle, among his own people as well as the enemy.

Their fearsome reputations _were_ an asset, there was no arguing with that. And it was also true that a large percentage of the men who witnessed their inhuman feats would be dead inside a week. Maybe he _was_ worrying too much.

Then again, maybe not.

"Still, we're taking a lot of risks here —"

"Necessary risks," Prussia cut in sharply, suddenly serious. He locked eyes with Ludwig, and his face became grim. "I have bad news, Ludwig. The day before yesterday the Romanian Third Army was overrun, leaving our northern flank exposed. Yesterday the Soviets punched through their Fourth Army Corps with tanks. _Lots_ of tanks. They're spreading out, forming a ring around us. At this rate they'll have almost our entire army surrounded within days."

"_Scheiße!_" The swearword slipped out of Ludwig in a vehement hiss. He bowed his head and glared at the nearest corpse as though it were somehow all his fault.

This _was _bad news.

Very bad news.

They could _not_ allow the Soviets to get them in a stranglehold, cut them off from all reinforcements and further supplies. The reinforcements they could make do without, at least for a while, but they were only receiving about half of the supplies they needed as it was, food included. Sufficiently warm winter clothing — particularly coats, uniforms, socks, and gloves — were in especially short supply, a fact which didn't bode well for any of them considering that they'd already been through some torturously cold nights and winter was only _just getting started_.

"Does Paulus know?"

"He should by now. I sent word to him on my way to find you, told him I'd mount an offensive and join him from the east in Kalach as soon as possible. We…" He winced. "kind of forgot to guard that place."

_ Of course. Of course we did. _Ludwig thought dryly. _Nothing can ever go by the book. There always has to be some hole in the plan, some stupid little oversight that screws everything up. _He drew in a deep breath, exhaled it in a noisy, heavily frustrated sigh. Dark thoughts weighing heavily on his mind, he walked over to the corpse he'd been staring at, straddled it, dropped to his knees, and set his dagger down on the cement floor. Bare fingers, wet and grimy with cold blood, slipped between the middle set of buttons on the khaki-tan trenchcoat. Taking one side of the coat up in each hand he ripped it apart, sending buttons flying everywhere and exposing the uniform beneath. He pulled the shirt part up and began separating it from the soft, white undershirt it protected.

"What are you _doing_?"

He could feel Prussia's eyes on him, tell without even looking that he was making a face.

"I prefer the soft cloth for cleaning," he explained simply, "It does a better job." He looked up, quirked an eyebrow at the older nation. "Just what did you _think_ I was doing?"

Gilbert blinked, registering. "Well, you do keep talking about how hungry you are…" He barked with laughter at the look of disgust which swept Ludwig's face. "What? You _are_ the Russian Butcherer!"

"I don't even know why they call me that," Ludwig admitted, grabbing his dagger and giving it a few preparatory wipes on his victim's uniform. "I'm no sadist. I always try to kill them as quickly as possible. And once they're dead what's the point in hacking up the bodies?" He moved the blade to the undershirt, stained the snowy white cloth with bright red streaks. "I know food is a bit scarce, but they can't seriously think that we've started eating them."

"Who knows with these crazy sons of bitches." Gilbert approached another body and dropped down alongside it. "Lately they've been taking more and more after their nation. Either that or he's been taking more after them — not really sure which way it's flowing there. All I know is they're putting up way more of a fight than the French did, that's for fucking sure." He paused for a beat, then added playfully "By the way, did you ever notice how Ivan twitches when you mention Stalin?" He chuckled as he set about frisking the soldier for anything of value. "Why do I get the feeling someone isn't happy with his boss?"

"Because he isn't. Stalin purged his military of all his best officers — I remember him complaining about that when I stayed over at his house for a few days back in thirty-nine to iron out the details of our non-aggression pact. He tried to hide it of course, but I could tell he was a little worried that Japan's military was going to overpower his if any large-scale fighting broke out. Stalin also abuses his power over him, makes him torture himself whenever he displeases him and frankly doesn't give a damn how he feels or what he thinks about anything. There's also the matter of what he forces Ukraine to do…" Ludwig made a face and shook his head. "At least I don't have to worry about that with Hitler. Not that his punishments are any nicer." The dagger as clean as he was going to get it, he set it on the corpse's thigh for a moment while he finished wiping his hands off on an unused portion of the shirt.

"I heard it's more than Ukraine," Gilbert said, drawing something thin and rectangular out of one of his guy's pockets. "I heard he has a thing for Belarus and Georgia too. Hell, he probably even does that to _Russia_. It would explain _a lot._ Mmm, chocolate." The rectangular object turned out to be a candy bar. He tore open the wrapper and took a bite.

An odd expression came over Ludwig; his face warped with disgust but his eyes shone with twisted amusement. In all seriousness that dynamic probably wasn't at play in the case of Ivan and Stalin, but who knew what went on behind closed doors?

"Speaking of bosses, has Hitler realized that you're one hundred times the man Heydrich was yet?" Gilbert asked, mouth full of chocolate.

"I wish," Ludwig muttered darkly, putting his dagger away and beginning a pat-down of his own. "At least he agrees with us that Heydrich was incredibly stupid to drive around in an unarmored, open-top car in a recently occupied territory."

"And turn down _my_ company," Gilbert emphasized, shaking what remained of his treat at Ludwig. "Don't forget, I was supposed to be with him that day. But nooo, the Great and Mighty Reinhard Heydrich was too awesome to need a nation's protection. Brushed me off like some mortal fanboy. And people say _I'm_ arrogant — the way he acted you'd think he was a god. Can you believe he had the nerve, actually had the _nerve_ to criticize me for being killed too many times by Russia? As if he could have done any better! It's too bad the Czechs got him — I'd have paid to see him go one-on-one with Ivan."

"Me too." Ludwig agreed, "But only after I told Ivan about the role he played in Stalin's purges." Something small and metallic brushed against his hand in one of the pockets…his fingers twined around the object and withdrew a small gold-colored locket, the kind family photos were usually kept in. He tossed it aside without opening it.

"So much for not being sadistic." Gilbert teased, grinning a little. "Go on, tell me. What did Heydrich do to get you _that_ pissed off at him?"

The soldier wasn't carrying anything else besides a few bullets. Ludwig stopped his search and turned his head away from his brother, focused on a random spot on the floor a meter to his left.

_ I can't tell him, I __**can't**__._

For almost a year now he'd grappled with the question of whether or not he should tell his brother what was _really _happening to the Jews, about Arik and Nessa, about the Einsatzgruppen, about the stand he'd made against the High Command…about his punishment. Gilbert remained blissfully unaware as to all of it. Like Ludwig he kept to the frontlines and never lingered behind anywhere long enough to encounter the Einsatzgruppen, never had reason to visit a Jewish ghetto. From the way he spoke and acted it was obvious that no one on the High Command had let him in on the loop about either the Final Solution or what they'd done to their own precious 'Fatherland' when he'd tried to stop it. Lithuania, likewise, had made good on her promise to keep her lips sealed. After speaking with her Germany had decided to keep his terrible secrets between the two of them, that no other nation spirit could ever know, that no possible good could come of telling Gilbert and Feliciano that by fighting on his side they were helping facilitate the death and suffering of millions of innocent people.

No, he'd allow them to remain ignorant, the way he had once been. The way he wished he had _stayed_. Knowing that his own people were capable of such evil was bad enough, but being unable to do a damn thing about it tortured his conscience and his soul.

"We just didn't see eye to eye." he said after a few seconds, his voice unusually quiet and hesitant. "He hated me, thought I was too soft. Told me I didn't deserve to be his nation. Look, Gilbert…" He met Gilbert's gaze, gave him his undivided attention. "not to change the subject too much, but do you ever get the urge to murder innocent civilians? Jews, for example?"

"Phsht, all the fucking time." Gilbert admitted, tearing open a bag of crackers he'd found somewhere during the course of their conversation. "Not too long ago I was talking to a man — he was the nicest guy in the world, but I'd found out earlier that he was a Jew, and the whole time I was talking to him I couldn't stop fantasizing killing him. I didn't want to and knew I wasn't going to, but it was like the urge piss, you know? You can try to ignore it all you want, but you won't be very successful. I think I spooked the poor guy, maybe stared at him a little too murderously or twitched a little too much. He didn't even know that I knew he was a Jew, or that I was in the Wehrmacht or a former SS officer, and he was a bundle of nerves after speaking with me." He popped a few crackers into his mouth.

"How'd you meet him?"

"At a tavern in Frankfurt. I was on my way back to the front and stopped for a few beers. The Jew — Hans, I think he said his name was? — was just settling down to his first drink when I got there. The only seat not taken was the one next to him."

"You said you had the urge to kill him, but knew you weren't going to. How did you know you'd be able to keep resisting?"

"I just kept reminding myself that I was too awesome to be brainwashed by all of our government's anti-Jew propaganda, that taking the life of an innocent man who posed no threat to me and mine was evil and went against everything I believe in. Your citizens' influence on your mind can be strong. You have to be stronger."

"But how long can we keep it up?" Ludwig asked, worry filling his eyes and eddying around the corners of his mouth. "What you resist will persist. I also get the urge to kill innocent civilians sometimes — _especially _Jews — but I can't fight it with all my will and it keeps happening again and again, and getting stronger and stronger each time. I can feel my resolve eroding, feel myself slipping…" A realization suddenly hit him. He stared into Gilbert's red eyes, eyes dulled and worn with sorrow and understanding, and gasped. "You know, don't you?"

"About the Final Solution? Yes." Gilbert's reply was somber. "I see you know too…I'm sorry. I was hoping you'd never find out."

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><p><em><strong>AN:** _

_(1) Bozheh moy! Ruesskie Oobeetsyah! = My god! Russian Butcherer!  
>(2) Mein kleinen Bruder = my little brother<em>

_Whew, end of Chapter 23! I know we've been shifting gears a little and we will continue to do so over the next couple of chapters, but things will definitely come full-circle. _

_The poll in my profile is still open and will remain so until the next chapter, for those of you who didn't get the chance to vote. Next chapter should be ready sometime within the next 14 days or so. No that I've freed up more time I aim to update this bi-monthly. No promises, but I'm certainly going to try! We have somewhere around 4 chapters to go. _

**Just Anothr Anon: **_I'm glad you liked Ludwig and Toris's interaction. : D Yes, the personified nations are both what they are and individuals in their own right. So even though Germany is oppressing Lithuania as a country, he can still be friendly with her on a personal, individual level. And yeah, gender-swaps of canon characters can take a little getting used to, especially in stories where most of the cast retains their canon gender, so no worries. I just really think Toris makes a better girl, and for the purposes of this story it works better. : ) _

_Heeere's Prussia for you! He will stick around for the next two or three chapters. : ) _

_**Faenil:**_ Thank you very muc_h!_


	24. The Final Solution to the Final Solution

**A/N: **_Okay, I've noticed that during the course of this story, somehow, somewhere, I started writing much longer chapters. In order to get updates to you guys in a more timely manner I've decided to start making my chapters shorter again, closer to how they were around Chapter 7. So you get a few more chapters than I'd originally planned! Yay! Get excited! XD_

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><p><strong>Chapter 24<strong>

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><p>"How…how did you find out?"<p>

"I knew something was up when, like you, I kept getting the urge to murder, straight-up _murder _innocent people: mostly Jews, Gypsies, and Poles, but even the most Aryan of our own people if they were handicapped or mentally ill. The urges didn't come on by themselves, either — I caught myself thinking things I would normally never think, believing shit I _knew_ wasn't true. You know what I'm talking about — it's an entirely different frame of mind. When you're in it your morals and worldviews change…only the strongest deserve to survive; we must destroy the weak in order to keep our gene pool healthy and pure; it's not just stupid, but _unpatriotic _and_ wrong_ to waste resources on those whose immediate future reads 'death'; compassion is weakness and a perversion of nature…since when did I ever believe this crap? Sure, over seven and a half centuries I've wracked up a lot of regrets, done things that I wish a million times I could take back, but I've always been about _protecting _the weak and innocent, not destroying them! Compassion, temperance, and charity are Heavenly virtues!" The more he spoke the more impassioned Gilbert became, and the tighter his hand squeezed the bag of crackers. Grimacing, he shook his head and dropped his gaze. "This…what we're doing now…" Words failed him. He kept shaking his head, over and over again, and as he did so his expression changed. Sorrow crept into his porcelain features, smoothed out creases of anger and dimmed the light in those fiery red eyes. Thin, pale lips quivered in the beginnings of a snarl, curling to show a sliver of white teeth before relaxing. "I can't believe it. I never thought I'd live to see the day my people went astray and embraced evil, forgot their history, forgot their _religion_. The ones who still claim to believe, I don't know how they can call themselves Christian." He gave a little snort. "Torture and murder everyone whom you don't judge worthy of survival — that isn't what Christ taught. I know I haven't been the model Christian — hell, I've broken all but two of the ten commandments — but at least I try. I know the difference between good and evil, right and wrong, and, more importantly, I _care_. You wont catch _me_ gunning down little Jewish children, that's for damn sure."

"Nor me," Ludwig agreed, "and I feel the same way you do, but most of our people still don't know how far Hitler and his government are taking this, what they've been doing, what they plan on doing…if only there was a way we could expose the truth, make the reality of the ghettos and labor camps common knowledge, the Final Solution headline news-"

"Do you really think that's such a good idea?" Gilbert shot hotly, startling Ludwig, "Even if they aren't as far-gone as the SS most of our people still see the Jews as being inferior to themselves: greedy, underhanded, untrustworthy, even downright _dangerous_. Our government has done a real number on them: they're not going to be swayed to rebellion by a few graphic films, pictures, and personal stories. Even those who sided with us would be too afraid of the police and military to act — no one's going to risk their life and the lives of family and friends, or jail time, for strangers, especially when the situation at home is so comfortable. And if they did it would throw our land into chaos. What do you think would happen if a German civil war broke out right now? I'll tell you what would happen: the Allies would pulverize us. And how the hell would either of us get around the fact that any uprising we started we'd be forced to help suppress?"

_ All really good points. _

Ludwig sighed. "Alright, so a big reveal is out of the question. How about a putsch? Göring's power-hungry — maybe he'll help us. If he takes his protection off Hitler then you can kill him and _he _will be our new Führer."

Gilbert's face split with a devilish grin. "Wooo, kill Hitler. Now you're speaking my language." His excitement faded. "I'd love to, but I don't know if I can rope Hermann into our corner. I'm sure he'd love to be Führer, but I don't know if he'd be willing to off Adolf for the privilege — unfortunately I think their friendship is real. Also he knows that you and I are sympathetic towards the Jews and he might worry that we'd try to pressure him into giving some of the seized property back. He owns a lot of former Jewish property and he does _not_ want to part with it."

Ludwig scoffed. "As if we could force him to. Göring's your boss, surely he knows better than that."

"I think the concern would be us getting fed up with him and later on organizing another putsch to get rid of _him_. Göring isn't stupid. He's asked me a _lot_ of questions about our kind and the magical rules pertaining to us over the years. He's even had me teach him some Shaykomay. He knows that a boss has control only over his country's body, not his mind. He knows that willing nation spirits make far better servants than unwilling ones, that we're good at finding loopholes in orders we don't like."

"Yes, but he could always command us never to conspire against him verbally or through writing. Hitler never thought to do that with me. I think he always just assumed that I couldn't."

Gilbert frowned. "I don't think it would be a good idea to let Göring in on that little secret. He's an alright boss — way better than Hitler and the rest of the mortal High Command — but I've definitely had better and I'd like to keep our options open just in case. To be perfectly honest, Deutschland, I don't think any of our highest ranking men should be in charge of us. Not one of them cares about us and our citizens as much as he pretends to. If we _have_ to pick one then yes, Göring's the best choice, but what we really need right now is someone less greedy and more charismatic, someone who can be strong without being cruel, someone smart and brave and level-headed who understands the complexities of war and always puts the well-being of the average German first, above even himself. Someone like-"

"You?" Ludwig finished, only half teasing.

Gilbert laughed. "I was going to say _you_, but I don't blame you for wanting the awesome me to ha-"

"You think _I_ could be Führer?" Ludwig interrupted, surprised.

"Not could, _should_. You'd be one hell of a good boss. I've seen how you lead our troops. They practically worship you, and for good reason. Your strategizing skills are legendary, your foresight second to none. If _you_ were calling the shots instead of Hitler we never would have invaded Russia when we did, never would have wasted thousands of lives and millions of Reichsmarks on stupid, poorly thought out campaigns. Instead we would have waited for right moment — right when the Russians were at their most vulnerable — charged in and hit them like an act of God, capitulated their government in under three months. Ivan would be polishing our boots before he even knew what hit him."

Ludwig's mouth twitched with frustration. Gilbert was right again, and hearing the one nation he looked up to more than any other in the world, the man who had raised him like a son and bickered with him like a brother, sing his praises like that…it was nice. From their first encounter mere hours after his creation he'd always tried to be a nation Prussia could be proud of, to please and impress him, and knowing that he'd succeeded lifted his spirits, burned away some of the icy despair enshrouding his soul.

But however good the words made him feel, and regardless of the fact that Gilbert sincerely meant well by speaking them, he still couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger.

"It's true, but why bother even bringing it up when we both know it's impossible? We _can't _be our own bosses — you yourself said so."

Gilbert set the bag of freshly-pulverized Russian crackers down on the concrete floor and averted his gaze to the side, stared thoughtfully at nothing in particular. "Back when you asked me that question you were still so very young…I didn't want to confuse you. Truth is, we _can_ be our own bosses, but only for very short periods of time, no more than two or three months at most. Any longer than that and the risk of exposing our secret would be too great. Even so there is _still_ a lot of risk involved, and even the most egotistical and power-hungry among us only do it in emergencies, but we _can _do it. I've been my own boss a few times, and so have most of the older nations."

So _that _was why Prussia had raised the issue!

A jolt of hopeful excitement went through Germany. "So," A thin, sinful little smile curled his lips as he spoke, and he made no effort to hide the almost purring dark current of pleasure in his voice. "we kill Hitler and make _me_ Führer. Then you and I do some major house cleaning in the government, put an immediate stop to all the cruelty and slaughter, get everything organized and on the right track, then pass the power to a man of our choosing."

Gilbert grinned broadly, crimson eyes once more lighting upon Ludwig's. "Now you're catching on."

Ludwig's smile persisted a second or two longer, then slipped away. "We're going to have our work cut out for us with the SS. They're not going to like it when beating and killing civilians — _any _nation's civilians — without good reason is suddenly a crime punishable by death."

"Why not disband them?" Gilbert suggested, "The Wehrmacht isn't so corrupt and they're all we need anyway. We can offer former SS members the chance to re-enlist in the _real _military and restrict the morally questionable ones to the lowest ranks."

"I like the _idea _of the SS, I just don't like the fact that so many of them are ruthless assholes. I'd like to rehabilitate them. Obviously some will be lost causes and we'll need to have the courts deal with each of those on a case by case basis to determine the most appropriate course of action, but I honestly believe that quite a few of them, maybe as many as two-thirds, are redeemable. I'll retrain and recondition those and make sure all new recruits are of sufficient moral character. I want to be in command of the SS for as long as I can. Whoever we choose to be Führer _must _support me in that."

Gilbert chuckled, eyes sparkling deviously. "So, you want Himmler's job." He grinned again, and his approval could not have been more evident.

"I do," Ludwig admitted brightly, the combination of Gilbert's infectious cheer, the news he'd just learned, and above all the new _hope_ he now had for the future putting him in the best mood he'd been in all year. "And why not? There'll be a vacancy — my first act as Führer will be to fire my entire High Command. Except for Göring, maybe. We'll talk about what do with him later, when Hitler's dead."

But Hitler _wasn't_ dead, not yet, and even when he was there was still one more hurdle to leap over.

"Speaking of that…not only do we need to find an assassin we can _**trust**_ who we can be dead _certain _will do the job right the first time, we need to find a way to get around the fact that I'm not officially recognized as Hitler's successor. It won't do me much good to kill the bastard if I immediately find myself compelled to obey Göring."

"Fortunately for us your boss doesn't like publicly announcing who the next in line is." Gilbert pointed out, "Only those of us in the highest circles know for sure it's Göring, and we both know that that could change on a whim. Hitler's never going to stop pitting those three against each other; I think it amuses him watching them fight for his favor like dogs over a scrap of meat. It means that most people won't find your sudden promotion too suspicious — think about it, you're around Hitler a _lot_, and you're the most mysterious member of the High Command. You're also the most Aryan member of the High Command, so you should find acceptance rather easily. Your only obstacle is, as you said, official recognition." He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Fortunately this can be fixed with a little forgery. Oh, sure, it will take some time, and we might have to let one or two more people in on our secret, but I'm pretty sure we can get everyone we need in our pocket one way or another. Then when Hitler's out of our way it will turn out that, surprise! Signed and official documents show he named _you_ his successor months before his untimely demise."

"Clever." A tiny smile played at the ends of Ludwig's mouth. "We're going to have to be _**extremely**_ careful though, because I'm already treading on thin ice with Hitler and if he ever catches so much as the faintest _whiff _of this he'll force me to be on the Einsatzgruppen. He already threatened me with it."

Gilbert made a face. "He needs to die."

"He does. The sooner the better. You concentrate on the forgeries and I'll concentrate on finding our assassin." Ludwig sighed. "Finland would have been _perfect_."

He would have been, too. The little Nordic wasn't half as sweet, innocent, and helpless as his appearance suggested. Quite the contrary, in battle he was an extremely competent, fierce, and seasoned soldier capable of giving Russia a good fight. Stealth and marksmanship were where he really shone, and what he lacked in brute strength he made up for in swiftness and agility. Ludwig had not only heard the stories, but seen for himself when he had gone over to Tino's 'house' to forge their alliance just how deadly he could be. He had a reputation for being mild-mannered and timid, and he was — right up until someone threatened his Finns. Then his Viking roots showed.

Finland was not yet an official member of the Axis, but he _was _an ally, and as such his boss and Germany's had made the goodwill gestures of forbidding each of their respective nation spirits from harming the other's boss. It was an incredibly annoying, far too common practice among heads of state, and ultimately useless since the protection could be withdrawn at any moment without warning.

"I know," Gilbert agreed, frowning. "Your best bet will be to infiltrate the German Resistance and assemble a small task force from them. Of course, it's going to be hard tracking them down when your current orders are to continue fighting in Stalingrad."

_ And therin lies the difficulty. _His expression back to its usual verging-scowl, Ludwig turned away from Gilbert and stared into the bloodied face of the soldier whose shirt he'd used, mind whirring. _If only I had someone I could trust to search for the Resistance for me…_

Waitwaitwaitwait WAIT.

He did. He _did _have someone in his corner, someone who would be _perfect _for just such a mission!

"I know someone!" he declared suddenly, eyes streaking back to Gilbert. "Ansel Schmitz! He's a member of Einsatzgruppe A, but he's undyingly loyal to me. He warned me when one of the Gestapo and the rest of his Einsatzgruppe suspected me of treason and helped me rescue a pair of Jewish children even though it was in his best interest to turn me in. He also accepted my orders to work alongside Lech without question, even though most in his position would have had doubts about where _my _loyalties were at that point. I'm certain he'd kill Hitler if I asked him to, especially if I let him in on my secret first."

Gilbert's lips curved with a scimitar smile. "Awesome. He's going to need backup though…" The smile stretched into another toothy grin. "I offer my services. I may not be able to hurt Hitler, but let him _try_ and order me around." The laugh that followed would have frightened anyone but Ludwig, especially coming from a man spattered with blood, whose slicked-back, ghostly white hair ran scarlet in places with it. "It's a shame you'll have to miss it."

The tiny smile from earlier twitched again at Ludwig's mouth; what he wouldn't give to be able to see _that_. "Perfect. But once I locate Schmitz I'm still going to try and get him to infiltrate the Resistance first. We need to keep the assassination group small and inconspicuous, but we also need good people to fill in all the spots that are immediately going to open up in the government, even if most will be short term fixes." He paused. "By the way, how _did _you learn about the Final Solution? I know you sensed something was wrong, but that alone wouldn't have told you that our government was planning on systematically murdering all of the Jews in extermination camps built specially for that purpose."

Gilbert rose to his feet. "Yeah, that…" He stretched, flexed his fingers. "I was having dinner with the SS one night a few months ago not too far from Belzec, Poland. Now, I don't know whether it was because the alcohol was loosening their tongues or because they assumed that someone as high up the chain of command as me would already know all the government's dirty laundry, but some of them said some things which made me wonder just what the hell was going on. I didn't have to pry very hard to learn that most of them were stationed at the Belzec extermination camp and what its purpose was. I pretended to be a fellow virulent anti-Semite and asked to be given a tour of the camp, which they naturally complied with." He brought his arms down to his sides, gave his brother a grim 'you know what comes next' look. "Do I really need to tell you what that tour was like?"

Ludwig shook his head. "No. I've never been to an extermination camp, but I can imagine what it's like. I know about the gas chambers. I know no one is spared. I just hope it's quick for them."

Gilbert's expression hardened. "It's not. The gas chambers don't work very well — the victims suffer for several minutes, sometimes over half an hour. You can hear them crying. Praying. Pleading. The only ones spared are those chosen to be Sonderkommandos, a few able-bodied men forced to retrieve and dispose of the bodies. They're killed and replaced every so often to keep them from plotting escape or rebellion." His face darkened. A low growl crept into his voice. "The things the SS were saying about them made me want to kill them all. I'm ashamed to admit it, Ludwig, but I might have tried if I'd thought I could get away with it. Instead I arranged to have a word with the camp's commandant, a Captain Wirth. That guy was a nasty piece of work. Kept making snide remarks about my albinism and the fact that I'd been kicked out of the SS because of it. You'd think he'd show more respect to a general, but he's one of those guys who thinks everyone in the SS is better than everyone who isn't. Anyway, when I asked by whose authority he was running the camp he told me to take it up with Himmler. So I did." A small, cruel little smirk blossomed on his lips.

"I waited until I was sure he was alone, then I barged into his office and demanded he tear down the Belzec camp and have Wirth arrested. At the time I was still naïve enough to believe — no, _wanted _to believe — there was only one, that no matter how much my attitude shifts hinted otherwise it was an isolated incidence of a few evil men abusing their power. Himmler freaked out a little right at first, then he quickly realized from the way I was talking that I didn't know about Operation Reinhard or the Final Solution. He lied to me, told me he hadn't authorized _that _kind of camp, pretended to be shocked and horrified by the news." He wasn't smirking anymore, the expression having been driven from his lips by an angry frown. "I should have known he was pulling one over on me: Himmler's not a very good actor, and he seemed way more afraid of me than bothered by what I was saying. But I wasn't thinking clearly and like an idiot I believed him when he said he was going to call Wirth and order him to cease his operation at Belzec immediately, to arrange for the survivors to be transferred to the closest labor camp." His frown intensified. "He made a call alright — straight to my boss. Next thing I know Göring's shouting at me from a handset, commanding me not to harm the cowardly little weasel holding it out in the air. He told me to come to straight to his private residence at once. When I arrived he told me everything. I asked him if you knew, and he said he didn't think you did."

Ludwig snorted. "That was a lie. I knew before you did — I found out back in November of forty-one, back when they were still just shooting them all into mass graves outside the labor camps. I was just as shocked, enraged, and sickened by it as you, and I let the whole damned High Command know about it in a conference less than a week later."

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"For the same reason _you_ weren't going to tell _me_."

"That conference didn't end well, did it?"

Ludwig shook his head, old anger welling uselessly in his chest. "No. I tried to get them to take mercy on the Jews, to improve the conditions in the ghettos and labor camps even marginally. To stop the mass killings. But all I did was piss Hitler, Heydrich, and Goebbels off. And the more pissed _they_ got the more pissed _I_ got…"

"Speaking of pissing, my dam's about to burst," Gilbert interrupted suddenly, "Hold that thought for juuust a moment." He sprinted towards one of the factory's dark corners.

Ludwig fell silent. While his brother answered nature's call he got up and moved to the next dead soldier, dropped down on one knee over him, and began another patdown. Hopefully this guy was carrying something edible. Hopefully that something was more than a stale crust of bread or another package of that awful finely-shredded-cardboard-held-together-by-glue the Russians tried to pass off as crackers.

_ Please, _please_ have Spam. _Though it was not one of his favorite foods Ludwig was rather fond of the canned pork product, and thanks to America generously supplying his allies with it there was a decent chance that at least half a dozen tins were waiting to be discovered somewhere inside this factory. He could sure use a tin right now: he hadn't eaten since late afternoon yesterday, and now it was already past noon again. A bottle of orange juice — he had developed a real craving for it for some reason as of late — would be a nice treat, too, though he knew better than to get his hopes up.

So Gilbert already knew about the Final Solution. It would have been better if he had never found out, but now that he had Ludwig didn't see any harm in telling him all about how he himself had come to learn of it and what he had done to stop it. Gilbert would be pleased and proud to hear that he had rescued a pair of children and gotten them to safer lands, that he had stood up to their High Command — even Hitler himself — and done everything in his power to ease the suffering of innocent civilians, German and nonGerman alike. And as for his punishment? Well, if he had ever had any misgivings before he knew now beyond all shadow of doubt that Gilbert would be nothing if not understanding and emotionally supportive. The red-eyed nation was fighting the same secret battles he was, bound by the same magical shackles that forced him to obey even the most evil commands irrespective of the anguish it put him through.

_ What was _**that?! **Ludwig's eyes shot at once to a dog-sized, jagged hole in the brick wall immediately to his right, maybe half a meter above the floor. Something — or, more likely, some_one _— had passed by there suddenly: he'd caught glimpse of a gray blur out of the corner of his eye, heard a faint rustle of movement.

_ Oh no you don't!_

Hunger forgotten, the lithe country sprang up like a jackrabbit, whirled on his feet, grabbed the MP 35 tethered to his body, and dashed for the only entrance as fast as his legs could carry him, slowing to a more human speed only when he cleared the threshold.

It had been freezing inside the factory, but outside the crisp early winter air was even colder. The earth was hard with frost and dusted with a layer of old, packed snow that was too thin to stop the stiff yellow grass from crunching underfoot. Plants, buildings, cars, war machines — everything — was faded and washed out, its color either drained or tarnished by months of battle, cold weather, and the oppressively grey sky which stretched from horizon to horizon and hid the sun completely from view.

Ludwig sped around the corner of the building, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of the person who'd ran by the hole before he or she had the chance to turn a corner or hide.

He was in luck.

_ There you are!_

A figure wearing a dark grey coat and light brown cap ran towards the boutique at the end of the road. The clothes strongly suggested that he or she was a civilian, but there was only one way to be sure.

"HALT!" Ludwig put on a burst of speed, rocketed towards his quarry as fast as an Olympic sprinter. Only when he was a few meters behind him did the implications of the mystery person's suspiciously short stature fully register with him, and as fickle luck would have it that moment of realization just so happened to be the moment the kid chose to stop running, flip around, and thrust a rifle out towards his chest.

Ludwig stopped in the nick of time: perhaps forty centimeters of open air separated his lower chest cavity from the tip of the weapon. He lowered his own weapon and blinked, subtle surprise flickering across his features. _A boy?!_

It was indeed a boy. A boy of eleven, maybe twelve or thirteen years of age judging from his height, wiry frame, and extremely youthful face, a face which, possessing features somewhere in transition between child and teenager, had the classic going-through-puberty look. He was dressed from head to toe in warm winter clothes, including a pair of black wool gloves not too unlike the kind Germany himself wore. Tufts of auburn hair peeked out from under his snowcap.

He lunged forward with his rifle, causing Ludwig to hop back. "Provaleevie! Poshel von!"(1)

Though Ludwig did not understand the words, the meaning was clear: the boy's voice, and expression, were full of fight.

Yet he did not pull the trigger. Something was making him hesitate.

Probably he had never shot anyone before.

Or maybe it was fear.

Whatever the reason, Ludwig was glad for it. This reluctance to kill German soldiers meant the boy posed little threat to his men, and he could, in good conscience, allow him to live.

After taking that rifle, of course.

But how to do that without being shot? With the language barrier he wasn't going to be able to convince the boy to just hand the weapon over. He almost certainly thought he'd be killed if he did such a thing, an impression not helped by the Russian blood staining Ludwig's uniform and what he may or may not have seen through that hole in the wall.

A plan quickly presented itself. _Gilbert will be here any moment. His sudden appearance will distract the kid — I only need a second to tackle him and pull the weapon away._

Knowing Prussia he was by now aware of the situation and sneaking around the other side of the building. All Ludwig needed to do was avoid getting shot in the meantime.

"Easy there," he said in the calmest, most nonthreatening German he could muster, lifting his bare, empty hands slowly up in front of him and taking a small step back. "I don't want to hurt you." His words would be lost on the kid, but hopefully his tone of voice and body language would convey his nonviolent intentions.

The look of wild, desperate terror gripping the boy's face eased up very slightly. Where an older and more battle-minded enemy would have either shot Ludwig or started making some hard-to-misinterpret gestures with his rifle indicating he should cast off his own weapon and perhaps lie flat on the ground to be apprehended as a prisoner, he appeared very uncertain about what to do next.

Ludwig took one more step back. _Come on, Gil, hurry up. _

A second ticked by.

Three.

Seven.

The boy remained rooted to the spot, set his jaw in a mean, crooked line and crinkled his chapped nose in a show of bravery and defiance. But he couldn't stop fear and confusion from sabotaging the effect; his insecurities shone out of his eyes, made the muscles in his face twitch.

Ludwig could only pray that someone who had fewer qualms about shooting him wasn't nearby. He didn't hear anything apart from the usual ebb and flow of gunfire and explosions off in the distance, but while he had to keep his eyes on the boy his ability to check for enemies was greatly compromised.

The boy took a step back…

"Nyeh sleeshkom lee ty molod, chtoby srazhat'sya nyemtsy?"(2)

…and gave a start.

Sure enough Gilbert had appeared from behind the corner at the back of the factory, several meters to the boy's right and slightly behind him. The Russian had come from him.

"Yah dostatochnah vzroslee!"(3) the boy shouted fiercely, twisting his head just enough to allow him full view of the Prussian.

_ Got you! _Ludwig launched himself at the boy in a diving tackle, striking his chest with his own and throwing his arms around his back. As they fell he twisted, absorbed the impact with the pavement in his back and shoulders. The boy wasn't the friendliest civilian he'd ever encountered but he didn't want to hurt him _too _badly. As for himself, the rough landing sent only a mild shock of pain through his nerves, not much beyond discomfort. The moment he felt solid ground beneath him he rolled over and pinned his captive, right hand sliding into place to keep the boy's non-dominant arm trapped while his left went for the rifle.

The boy thrashed and struggled like a freshly-caught fish, but he might as well have been struggling against a lead statue. His legs lacked the strength to drive his knees into the nation spirit's rock-hard stomach with enough force to hurt him, and Ludwig couldn't even _feel _his attempt to free his trapped arm: in fact, he only knew that he must be trying to move it from the lively resistance he was getting from the rest of the boy's body. He had the rifle by the barrel within the first two seconds, and once it was in his grasp the boy was unable to budge it a millimeter in any direction.

_ You don't need this. _A quick tug and the rifle parted company completely with its underage possessor. Ludwig sprang off the boy and took several hasty steps back while flipping his new weapon to point at the ground.

The boy scrambled to his feet. His face showed shock at having been let go, and when his eyes, large and disbelieving, found the rifle pointed safely away from him, a bit of that shock turned to cautious relief.

"_Kahteece!_"(4) Gilbert shouted, "Scram!" In his hands rested another captured rifle, also pointed at the ground.

From the way the boy jumped several centimeters anyone would think Gilbert had snuck up right behind his back before shouting: this was one nervous little Ruesskie. He threw an anxious glance over his shoulder to the boutique he'd been heading for, then turned and lit off towards an adjacent building, the one across the street from the factory.

Curious.

_ Very_ curious.

_ Kid, you really need to work on your subtlety. _"He's hiding something in that boutique!" Ludwig called out to his brother, careful to keep his volume down as much as possible. "I'm going in!" He bolted for the little clothing shop knowing full well that Gilbert had his back whether he chose to voice a reply or not. They may not work together as often as they'd like these days, but when they _did _work together they made one hell of a team: each knew the other's habits, strengths, and weaknesses in and out, and this, combined with decades — in Prussia's case centuries — of combat and battlefield experience allowed for a degree of attunement unseen in all but a rare few soldiers. It was as though they could read each other's minds.

Upon reaching the front door Ludwig lost no time in throwing it open, realizing it had been locked only when he heard the crunch of splintering wood and saw the sizeable chunk the metal latch had taken out of the doorframe on the way out. _Kid must have a key, _he reasoned, _Either that or he knows another way in._

That boy was _definitely_ hiding something in here.

Or protecting it.

Question was, what?

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><p>X-x-X-x-X<p>

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><p>(1) Проваливай! Пошел вон! = Back off! Go away! ( Or "Back off! Get out of here!" )<p>

(2) Не слишком ли ты молод, чтобы сражаться немцы? = Aren't you a bit young to be fighting Germans?

(3) Я достаточно взрослый! = I'm old enough!

(4) Катись! = Scram! ( Gilbert translates this for Ludwig's benefit. )


	25. Viper in Vixen's Clothing

** Chapter 25**

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><p>Inside the shop all the lights were off. The dim natural light spilling in from the broken windows and around Ludwig cast the shop's contents in ashy shades of grey that faded into darkness. Directly to the left was a wall. Straight ahead, in prime theft-prevention location, a cash register sat atop a wooden bar-table that connected with the wall behind it to form a cozy little cashier's box. To the right of this an expanse of carpet stretched out beneath a dozen or so racks of clothing before ending at a wall on which a few more items of clothing, mostly men's formal wear, hung in full display. The clothing racks were about half bare, probably from looting.<p>

Ludwig flicked the light switch. To his dismay — but not surprise — no light came on. Most of the town was without power and had been for a long time.

_ Verdammt. _He'd given his flashlight to a soldier in need late last night and forgotten to grab a new one before heading out this morning. Now that he'd already made a loud entrance and alerted anyone who might be hiding to his presence he was just going to have to try and see in the dark as best he could. Fortunately the room wasn't all that big: searching it shouldn't take much time. He lifted his confiscated rifle into position and slipped inside, muscles taut and ready for the tiniest stir or noise.

So far so good.

No movements.

No sounds.

Nothing that warned of an imminent attack.

Heart beating a little bit faster, he stalked towards the end of the room with the air of a big cat traveling through an area which it knew to be dense with other large predators, eyes hyper-alert for any shapes that might be a weapon or explosive, any clothes that might have a person inside them.

Clothes.

Clothing racks.

A closed door.

More clothes.

It wasn't until he reached the wall of men's formal and started towards the side of the room that had the closed door that Ludwig noticed a big heap of clothing piled into a corner.

_ There! _Someone was hiding in that pile, he just _knew_ it. Stepping as softly as he could so as to hopefully delay alerting the hider to the fact that he'd found him for as long as possible, he walked over to the pile and poked his rifle into it.

The pile didn't react, but it did appear to be rising and falling. Breathing. Ludwig nosed a few articles of clothing aside with the rifle and exposed a pale, very small, human hand.

The hand retreated further into the mound.

_ A child. Probably the boy's little brother or sister, or…something. _Ludwig felt most of the tension drain from his body. After taking one last look around the room to make certain he didn't have any actually dangerous company he fell to one knee, laid the rifle on the floor, and started digging carefully into the middle of the pile with his hands.

Within seconds he'd uncovered a little body. A second more and the head came into view: small, fluffy-haired, chubby-cheeked, and very, _very _young. _A little girl. _Of course it was too dark to be certain, but something about the child's face struck Ludwig as feminine. She appeared to be somewhere around 5 years old. Her eyes were closed.

_ Playing dead, are we? How cute. _The scene called to mind memories of hunting in the woods back when he himself had been a boy the same age as the one he'd tackled outside, memories of walking stealthily through a thicket or meadow and coming across a newborn fawn lying close to the earth, still as a rock, hoping he wouldn't notice it hiding amidst all the vegetation. For an animal that was so tasty, deer had ridiculously cute babies. Those big innocent eyes, perpetually timid expressions, spindly little legs… Ludwig didn't know how any hunter could look one in the eye and kill it. During fawn season he'd always been careful not to kill any does for fear of sentencing a fawn to a slow and cruel death. Prussia had had fewer qualms about it, but had never chided him for it or implied that it made him less of a man, merely accepted it as his choice.

Face softening, Ludwig put one hand on the girl's shoulder and slid the other under her sweater. Her skin was warm to the touch — a little _too _warm it seemed. Thankfully she was breathing normally.

_ Hmn. _Ludwig took his hand out of the sweater and slid it under the girl's knees, moved his other hand to support her neck and shoulders. Gently, he lifted her out of the pile. When the clothes covering her legs fell away he saw at once that something was wrong with one of her ankles: it was wrapped tightly in torn strips of cloth, the pant leg that should have covered it rolled up high.

_ You're hurt! Poor little thing. I'll get you into some light, have a look at that. _Ignoring the rifle — he still had a fully-loaded MP35 strapped around his chest, after all — he rose up and carried the girl to the building's entrance. Amazingly, she continued to play possum the whole way, not daring to even twitch. The kid protecting her had probably told her to do that if someone came in, to not move or make any sounds no matter what. Smart.

_ What the…?! _

Ludwig hadn't been expecting to see the boy again, especially not so soon after dismissing him. But there he was, charging him like a bull.

He didn't have to move, however, because Gilbert was there in an instant, throwing his arms around the boy's arms and chest and stopping him dead in his tracks. "_Nyet! _Bood horosheem malcheekom!"(1)

This time Germany caught the word for 'no' — he'd learned that one before the war had even started courtesy of his ex-friend Russia.

"Anya!" the boy cried out in anguish. He tried to worm out of Gilbert's grasp, but the Prussian's grip on him was too strong.

"Is she dead?" Gilbert asked, eying the still form with a look of concern.

"Nein. Just pretending to be."

No sooner had Ludwig spoken than the girl's eyes flew open. "Petya!" She turned her head towards the boy, but thankfully didn't try to flip out of Ludwig's arms.

"Their names are Anya and Petya?" Ludwig asked, hoping he wasn't right. Anya was okay, he supposed, but…_Petya_? Who named their son that? These Russians were cruel even to their own kind.

"Nicknames. It'd be Anna and Pyotr. Not that Pyotr's any better." He smirked. "If you really want to piss Ivan off call him 'Vanya'. They _hate _it when enemies use their little pet names."

"Believe me, he's already pissed enough every time I see him." Ludwig dropped slowly to the ground, folded his legs under him to make a seat out of his bootheels. Secure in this position, he turned Anna around and propped the upper half of her body up against his legs. The girl cried out a little when her bad ankle touched the pavement.

"Her ankle's hurt — I don't know how badly. Also, it feels like she's running a fever. I'm going to give her some water and have a look at that wound. Can you get me something soft to lay her head on?"

"I think, maybe, I can get Little Comrade here to do it for us. If he's going to hang around he might as well make himself useful." With that Gilbert put his mouth close to one of Pyotr's ears and began speaking in Russian. He spoke several sentences, and with each one Pyotr seemed to calm down. Finally he turned the boy loose.

Pyotr came straight at Ludwig, and for a moment the country worried that his brother had put too much trust in him, but no. Instead of trying to pull Anna away Pyotr swerved and raced into the boutique.

It was at that moment that Ludwig remembered something _very_ important.

"Gilbert! There's a rifle in there!"

Gilbert's eyes went wide. "Oh _Scheiße!_"He sprinted for the shop.

"It's beside the pile of clothes in the far corner!" Ludwig added helpfully. When the other nation was out of sight he undid some of the buttons of his trenchcoat and removed a flask of drinking water from one of the inner pockets. Unscrewing the lid, he put the mouth of the flask under Anna's lips. "Drink." he said softly, tilting the flask so that a tiny trickle of water splashed onto her mouth.

Anna drank. Slowly at first, then a little faster as she become more comfortable. Ludwig laid a hand across her forehead. She was definitely running a temperature, felt clammy, and looked peaked. _Wound probably got infected. Whoever cared for her probably didn't have the right supplies, or enough of them._

But then, not 20 meters away was a factory full of dead Red Army soldiers. Surely they would have spared some of their supplies to help this little girl back when they were alive, unless these children hadn't been here very long?

Maybe Pyotr had been going to them for help when he'd realized they were too dead to help and run off.

Whatever the case, Ludwig had already made up his mind that he would do as much as he could for the girl.

Pyotr emerged from the boutique carrying a wad of clothes. He offered them to Ludwig, who gestured for him to set them on the ground beside him. He did so, then walked around to stand in front of Anna, face rife with concern.

Gilbert joined him seconds later. "He didn't go for the gun." he said, relieved. "I think it's finally starting to sink in that thick skull of his that if we wanted to hurt him and the girl we would have done that by now. We've only had, what, how many chances?"

"In his defense enemy soldiers aren't usually kind to civilians." Ludwig said, tipping the flask more for Anna, who continued to drink eagerly. "And our soldiers do have a reputation for being heartless killing machines, one that isn't helped by Russian propaganda I'm sure. And don't forget we have the blood of Pyotr's comrades splattered all over us. That can't be a comforting sight."

"True, true." Gilbert conceded. "Most soldiers in your position would have shot Pyotr on sight for carrying a weapon. I don't know how many would have helped Anna — it's so easy to fall into the trap of seeing _every _Russian as an enemy, even children. Or they take their anger towards the Red Army out on the civilians — I've seen that happen too. I kill civilians sometimes, but only when they're stupid enough to pick up a weapon and try to fight alongside their troops."

"Would _you_ have shot Pyotr? If you'd spotted him before me?"

"Depends on how quickly I saw his rifle," Gilbert admitted, "I hate killing kids, but I'm not going to take a death nap for one, nor am I going to let him kill any of my men. Old enough to fight as an enemy, old enough to be treated as one, I say."

"I didn't see the rifle until he turned on me with it, otherwise I would have done the same." Ludwig agreed.

Pyotr was _very _lucky.

A few seconds of silence passed before Ludwig changed the subject. "At least she's drinking. That's a good sign. Drank every drop." He screwed the lid back on the flask and slid it back into his coat. "Now we just need to have a look at that ankle." He grabbed the wad of clothes and slipped it between his legs and the little brunette head. Then he scooted back and let the makeshift pillow rest on the ground.

Anna said something in Russian and started to get up.

"Gilbert! Tell her to lay down and be still!"

Gilbert did, and Anna listened to him.

_ Good._

Ludwig moved over to the injured ankle, retrieved his army knife, and began cutting the bandages while Gilbert spoke in Russian in the background, probably reassuring Pyotr that he wasn't about to cut the girl's foot off.

After a few seconds the last strip of cloth was peeled away, and Ludwig's heart sank at the sight of an monstrous gash where the foot connected to the leg. Raw, wet, red-violet, and puffed up along the edges, it was definitely infected. A sliver of bone stuck out of the middle. The flesh around the injury was already starting to darken.

Ludwig sighed. "Looks like we're going to have to amputate to save her."

* * *

><p><strong>X-x-X-x-X<strong>

* * *

><p>The amputation took place half an hour later with Gilbert, the more experienced of the two nation spirits, as the surgeon. They did it inside the factory using a cluster of lanterns for light and what medical supplies they could scavenge from the corpses. To say that Pyotr was upset by the sight of all his fallen kinsmen was an understatement: first he broke down into a sobbing, shaking mess of tears and raw anguish, then he became aggressive and had be restrained ( Gilbert later explained that two of the corpses were his father and uncle ). Luckily they were able to find some rope, and Pyotr spent the duration of the surgery bound, gagged, and tied to a support column where he could do no harm.<p>

Every precaution was taken to ensure Anna's survival — amputations were tricky even under ideal conditions and recovery from them was never a sure thing, especially in people already succumbing to infection. Likewise, Ludwig and Gilbert did their best to ensure that she would feel as little pain as possible, putting her out with the only bottle of general anesthesia they were able to find before making the first incision. Even after everything was done and the wound cleaned, sewn, and dressed, Gilbert's prognosis remained grim. "She might make it and she might not." he'd proclaim, "If only we'd gotten to her sooner, before infection set in. Then we might have even been able to save the foot."

Though their soldiers needed them and they had urgent matters to attend to, both Germans decided to stay with Anna through the night, to take turns sleeping, standing guard, and checking on her and Pyotr. Gilbert would find some adult civilians to care for the children to in the morning, then they'd split up and carry on fighting in different parts of the city as usual, all the while secretly working to overthrow their own government.

At least, that was the plan.

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><p><strong>X-x-X-x-X<strong>

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><p>There were few things in life Ludwig hated as much as night duty entry control in a city that looked — and felt — like hell frozen over. He was bundled up as warmly as possible in a few extra pairs of socks and trousers to go with his warm woolen gloves, hat, and earmuffs, and even wore a Russian trenchcoat underneath his German one, but the freezing air bit sharply into his nose, eyes, and face, crept into his fingers and toes, stung his nostrils and lungs when he breathed it in. He'd always heard that Russian winters were unbearably cold, and the merciless winter deep freeze that had killed more of his army than the damned Red Army during the failed Moscow campaign stood testament to that, but damn, if he didn't know any better he'd swear he'd been killed in his sleep and through some mistake, some bizarre quirk of magic, been teleported to Antarctica.<p>

It was that damned subzero wind. Inside the factory it was significantly warmer, but out here…out here there were no walls to block the wind and no ceiling to help trap in heat.

And if _he _was this cold, he could only imagine what it must be like for humans. Probably neither side was going to be taking advantage of the cover of darkness for a sneak attack tonight. It was hardly a good night for stealth anyway, not since the clouds had parted to reveal a bright, almost full moon and patches of brilliant stars.

_ At least it's easy enough to see. _Ludwig's eyes had long since adjusted to the to the soft moonlight and deep shadows, and having had plenty of prior experience with outdoor night patrols in dangerous territory he knew exactly what to look for.

And he was seeing none of it.

Everywhere he looked he saw nothing but snow, dead stone and machines without so much as a stray cat or dog to break up the monotony.

He should probably go back inside the factory, do another round of spying on the outside world through the little peepholes he'd made in its walls. Ten minutes of being outside gliding in and out of the shadows like a wraith was more than enough, and he'd already spent an hour poised in the window of the building across the street watching the only entrance like a hawk. Normally he would have kept that position and forgone a risky outdoor patrol, however abbreviated, but hell, the only Russian crazy enough to be out in this temperature was Russia himself, and Russia would surely be expecting a sniper at that location.

His mind made, he rose up from behind the car he'd been using for cover and was about to dash the 15 or so meters separating him from the factory entrance at nation speed when a woman's voice rang out from way, way too close by.

"Hello, Generaloberst Herrmann."

In a flash Ludwig had his sniper rifle pointed at her.

"Easy there, I'm alone and unarmed." The woman's German was almost perfect. She stopped and put her hands up high into the air. "I need to talk to you. Please don't kill me until you've heard me out."

She was _so_ close…only a few meters in front of him. But there hadn't been anyone there when he'd checked a few seconds ago — she would have had to have rounded the corner of the building behind him at the exact moment when he'd started to stand up, it was the only explanation.

Ludwig blinked. She was young, early twenties probably, and had a pretty…no, _beautiful_…face framed by long, straight, pale blonde hair that seemed to glow in the light of the moon. Her voice was nice, too. Strong but not harsh and seductively velvetty it radiated danger, mystery, and feminine power. In fact, it was exactly the kind of voice he'd always imagined a femme fatale having.

It was all so…_distracting_.

_ Focus, Ludwig, or you'll be waking up next to the boss. _"Alright, but only if we speak in there." Ludwig gestured with his rifle to the building behind them. "I don't want to be sniped by one of your comrades while I'm listening to you. You go in first."

"As you wish." The woman approached him seemingly without fear and readily turned her back on him to first open the door, then go inside.

_ You're very brave, I'll give you that. _Whoever she was, this woman obviously felt that whatever she had to say was important enough to risk death for. Ludwig followed her inside, on fire with curiosity. "Move over in front of the window, I want to be able to see who I'm talking to."

"What, I don't get the same honor?" the woman teased lightly, backing up until the light streaming in through the somehow-still-intact window illuminated her smooth, flowing features. "I hate to admit it, but for a German you're pretty handsome."

_ What do you mean "for a German" I'm pretty hands- _Ludwig killed the thought mid-sentence.

No.

No it didn't matter, he couldn't, _wouldn't _let himself be seduced by what was, in all likelihood, a viper in vixen's clothing.

Instead he said, in a voice totally devoid of humor and warmth "Flattery wont help you, Russian." At no point since their little encounter had he taken his rifle off her, and now he shoved the business end of it out into the swath of moonlight menacingly. "Start talking. Who are you and what do you want?"

The woman gave a little sigh of disappointment. "Straight to the point, I see. I should have expected as much. You're even more serious than the average German."

"I'm losing my patience." Ludwig growled, though nothing could be further from the truth.

"Fine. My name is Svetlana and I have a favor to ask of you. I saw how you and your comrade spared that boy and saved that little girl earlier today — I've never seen such compassion in German soldiers. Certainly I didn't expect to see it in someone with a reputation for being a 'Russian butcherer'. You obviously have a soft spot for kids-"

"More like I just don't like to kill them." Ludwig interrupted.

Svetlana saw right through him. "Right. So _that's_ why you cushioned that boy's landing with your own body, and _that's_ why you gave the little girl a drink from your own flask. That's why you and the albino took her into that factory to treat her injured ankle. You can drop the black-hearted act, Herrmann, I _know_ you care. I've seen the goodness inside of you." She flicked a blonde lock out of her face with a gloved finger, offered him the hint of a smile.

Ludwig's expression remained harsh and unyielding. "Where are you going with this?"

"My sister, my little nieces and nephews, and a few of my nieces and nephews' friends got trapped in their cellar when a bomb fell on their house four days ago and buried their door under tonnes of ruble. My friends and I can't dig them out, and because they're right in the middle of a strongly German-held area the Red Army can't get any earthmoving equipment anywhere near them. They had enough water to last them a few days, but I'm almost certain they're out now, and probably suffocating, too…Generaloberst Herrmann, most of them are really young, under ten years old. My sister's the only adult in there with them."

"Is this cellar you speak of anywhere near the Volga?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm sorry about your family, but I can't help you. I'm not going to call my soldiers away from such a key location. The quicker we win this battle the quicker we can put an end to tragedies like this."

Svetlana's face fell. "I thought you might say that."

"And I can't in good conscience order my soldiers to dig them out. Svetlana, I _want_ to believe you, but I can't. Not all the way. Not enough to risk my men's lives. A strange woman who just _happens_ to speak fluent German seeks me out alone in the middle of the night and flatters me before asking me for a favor…this has 'sneak attack' written all over it. Probably we'd get rushed by the Red Army the moment we let our guard down. Maybe that cellar's even full of Red Army troops."

"Right, because we'd drop a house on ourselves in hopes of being dug out by Germans, who hate us, so that we could then ambush them. Because that makes nothing but sense and is in no way dangerous or stupid, oh no."

"I meant that Russian soldiers could have been hiding in the cellar before the house was bombed, not that they deliberately _planned _it." Ludwig clarified, agitation seeping into his tone. "Maybe some of them are your relatives. Maybe one of them is your boyfriend…how the hell am I supposed to know? I have only your word, the word of an _enemy,_ to go on."

Svetlana raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So civilians are your enemies now?" There was a bite to her voice.

Ludwig frowned. The word had slipped out automatically without him even thinking about it. "No, but a lot of Russian women _do_ fight alongside the Red Army. How do I know you're not one of them? You could be a sniper trying to lure me and my men into a trap."

Svetlana gave a frustrated sighed that passed her colorless lips in a puff of white smoke and shook her head. "I thought you might be hard to convince. You don't want to risk your men? Fine. Come alone. It's not like you need them anyway, probably, to dig my family out. I'm willing to bet coming back from the dead, miracle healing, and teleportation aren't the _only_ supernatural powers you possess."

Ludwig's heart stopped. "Svetlana, don't tell me you really believe those-"

"Yes I do," the Russian returned emphatically, "I've seen it with my own eyes." Her voice grew stronger, hotter. "I'm the sniper you've been looking for, Generaloberst! I'm the one who shot you last month at the Flakvierling, the one who _killed _you. I saw your brains leak out onto the ground, your soldiers panic. Saw you walking around in roughly the same area not a full week later as though nothing had happened, not so much as a bullet-shaped _scar_ between your eyes. I've been following you ever since, seen you shrug off injuries that would cripple anyone else, escape inescapable situations. I don't know what you are, but I know you're not human. At least, not entirely. Nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise — I _know_ what I saw, know there's truth to the most fantastic rumors about you."

She took a quick breath, and when she next spoke her voice was calmer, more subdued. Tears welled in her eyes, glistened wetly in the moonlight. "Please, my sister and little nieces and nephews mean everything to me, and they don't have a lot of time — it may even already be too late for some of them. I know you're going to kill me one way or another, have your revenge. You might even torture and humiliate me first, and if you don't decide to help my family then I've thrown my life away for nothing, but I've _seen _the goodness in you, and you really are my only hope. If I have to die horribly to save Masha and Olga, Tatiana, Ivan, Yuri, little Sasha and Natalia, then so be it. Innocent lives are in your hands, Generaloberst Herrmann. Will you save them?"

Ludwig blinked like a deer caught in headlights, his face slack and white with surprise: Svetlana's impassioned little speech had hit him like a runaway train, and for a rare moment he was too dumbstruck for coherent thought, let alone words.

Then some of the shock subsided, and his brain, and his mouth, worked again. "I will."

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><p><strong>X-x-X-x-X<strong>

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><p>(1) Нет! Будь хорошим мальчиком. = No! Be a good boy.<p>

**A/N: **_Woohoo! Double-update!_

_And so a new character arrives. Where does Svetlana fit into all of this? You'll see. ;)_

_I'm not going to go into detail about the rescue mission next chapter, as the story **is** winding down and I'm pointing everything towards finishing before too long here, but it **is **important to the plot._

**Guest: **_Yes, it was a mistake. I've corrected it. ;)_

**Just Anthr Anon: **_Aw, thank you! :D I'm really glad you liked the battle scene a couple of chapters ago — they've always been a bit difficult for me to write for the reasons you mentioned, and I always worry I'm not painting a clear enough picture in the reader's head ( my goal is to have them feel like a movie, only through words instead of moving pictures )._

_Oh yes, as you can see from this chappie, Ludwig and Gilbert **are** receiving some backlash — people do notice, and some are pretty certain about what they saw. Historically they haven't stayed in the same single battle for so long ( at least Ludwig hasn't ), ergo this wasn't as much of an issue in the past. How will this ultimately affect the plot? Only time will tell!_

_I'm happy to bring you some brotherly bonding, and sorry about the publishing mistake — sometimes Fanfic doesn't play nice._

_Thank you so much for the review!_


	26. Eye of the Storm

**A/N: **_This is the last calm chapter until the epilogue. I can't say much more without giving away plot details, but you're in for some serious action next chapter. Things are about to start happening _**very** _swiftly. Major things. And I warn you right now, not everyone is going to get a happy ending._

_Also, there's a new poll up in my profile page! :D It's about this chapter, so after you're done reading it I will love you forever if you head on over there and cast your vote ( or you can vote in a review, whichever you'd prefer ). ;)  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 26<strong>

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><p>"How do you feel?" Ludwig asked serenely, sky blue eyes staring up into the darkness obscuring the earthen ceiling. He knew how <em>he<em> felt: drunk with pleasure and satisfaction, he was savoring the moment even more than the full meal he'd enjoyed earlier, cherishing every second.

That…that had been _fun_. And so deeply, wonderfully satisfying, invigorating, and fulfilling! He could do it all night. _Wanted_ to do it all night, to give in to his deliciously sinful desires and lose himself in pure bliss over and over again, all negative thoughts and emotions a million kilometers from his mind.

"Like I made love to a jackhammer and got mauled by a bear. At the same time." There was a hint of pain in Svetlana's voice. "I knew you were an aggressive country and I figured you'd be one to like it rough, but _damn_. You make love like you make war."

"Sorry," Ludwig apologized a bit sheepishly, wiping some of the sweat from his face with his bare hand. Up until several minutes ago he'd been sure it wasn't even possible for a human ( or human-like ) body to get this warm in Stalingrad — at least not during _this_ particular winter, not outside of a hot bath — but life was full of surprises. "I guess I got a little too carried away." He turned his head so that his right cheek rested on the pillow beneath it. "I didn't mean to hurt you _that _much." He offered the young woman lying in bed next to him a soft, impish little smile. "You enjoyed it though, right?" He could tell from the way she'd behaved that she had, at least mostly.

Svetlana returned his impish smile with one of her own. Her eyes, which turned out to be a unique and striking shade of light green, glittered with guilty pleasure. "I did. Quite a bit, actually. I just wish you'd toned down some of that strength."

"Believe it or not I _was _watching my strength," Ludwig confessed, "But I got too into it…carried away, like I said. At least I still possessed enough self-awareness and self-control not to break any bones or kill you — that does happen sometimes. Never with me, but sometimes nation spirits get too caught up in the passion of the moment and forget how strong they are. It's caused one or two to swear off humans forever."

"I still can't believe your kind exist," Svetlana marveled, rolling onto her side and reaching out to touch Ludwig's head. Gingerly, almost lovingly, she began running her fingers through his disheveled hair. "It's a shame I have to die before I can meet Ruesseeya. I've always wondered what she'd be like if she were real, and now I know she is."

Ludwig gave a low, very brief chuckle. "Russland isn't a 'she'."

Svetlana's eyebrows flew up. "He's a '_he_'?!" Her fingers froze, embedded in a sea of blonde. "But we call her — I mean _him_ — 'the Motherland' and 'Mother Russia'! We have statues and art depicting him as a woman!"

"Doesn't matter. My people call me 'the Fatherland' and have ever since I was very young. I'm still no one's father, and I see myself more in a brotherly role to my citizens than a parental one. And as Russland himself so innocently put it when I teased him about it 'People don't know the gender of their country.'"

Svetlana resumed her petting.

Were he capable of it, Ludwig would purr. The affectionate touch of such a strong, beautiful, gutsy, wily, and above all _dangerous_ and _deadly_ woman was intoxicating, excited him almost as much as the sight of her toned muscles, smooth skin, and feminine assets. Like him, Svetlana was a true warrior. She had the mind, body, and heart of one, stopped at literally nothing to keep her loved ones safe. She was also pleasant company when she wasn't shooting Germans — on their way to dig out her family he'd learned she was quite knowledgeable about firearms and had practiced with assorted weapons even before the war had begun. Her father, a former soldier, was responsible for most of her training, had taught her a lot over the course of several camping trips.

It really was a shame he had to kill her. This was one enemy sniper he was going to miss.

"What's he like?" Svetlana wondered, curiosity shining brightly in her eyes. "You've met him in person, right?"

"Ja. Russland and I were friends up until he strong-armed his way out of a deal we had concerning the ownership of a certain Baltic country, a deal _he himself had agreed to_." Happily that had all worked out in the end: not long after Ivan had so rudely showed up on his doorstep and demanded Lithuania back — and though he had tried to reason with him at first and hold on to what was rightfully his Ludwig had _had_ to give in to his demand in the end, because Hitler's orders back then had been to do whatever it took to keep relations between himself and Ivan amiable — he'd gotten to declare war on him, bust into his house, and forcefully _take _Toris back. Ludwig rolled onto his side as well, prompting Svetlana to pull her hand away, and propped his head up on one arm so that his cheek rested against his hand. He kept his other arm close to his body, curled his fingers under his palm next to his chest. "You want to know what he's like? Do you know anything about your General Braginski?"

Svetlana nodded eagerly, the weight of her upper body supported by her left elbow. "Da — I mean — ja. I know General Braginski. Well, not on a real personal level. We don't cross each other's paths often and he's only spoken to me a few times, mostly just giving orders. But I know what his personality's like, what the stories and rumors surrounding him are."

"That's your 'Mother Russia'."

The awkward shock which swept the Russian's fair features was priceless. Her reaction was almost as strong as it had been when he'd revealed his true identity to her.

"_Bozheh moy!_ I should have _guessed_ it!" Svetlana sounded almost angry with herself."Once I found out what you were…people are saying the same things about Braginski! That they've seen him die, that he's stronger and faster than any mortal, that he heals supernaturally fast, that he never tires, that he can kill a man with one blow from the back of his bare hand…it all makes sense now! And if _he's _a nation spirit, and _you're _a nation spirit, then…" Her excitement climbed higher and higher. "then I'm going to go ahead and bet that 'The White Demon' is too!" She grinned at the smug, knowing look Ludwig gave her through half-lidded eyes. "He is, isn't he?"

"He is." Ludwig confirmed, mild amusement playing about his face. "Should I tell you which one, or would you like to guess?"

"I want to guess." Svetlana thought for a moment, then said "Österreich?"

This time Ludwig's chuckle almost turned into a laugh.

Prussia mistaken for Austria! Oh Prussia would be _furious_. He could practically _see_ his face screwing up with indignation, almost hear him shouting _'What the hell?! How could you confuse me with that stupid, boring-ass aristocrat?! Don't you have eyes? Can't you see that I'm a thousand times the nation he'll ever be?!'_.

"Nein. Not Österreich. Want to try again?"

"Hmn, let's see now…" Svetlana seemed to be enjoying their little game. She closed her eyes to help herself think. "Can't be Schweiz because Schweiz is neutral…hmn. He wears a German uniform though…surely one of your allies would wear his own. But I can't think of any more Germanic countries…can you give me a hint?" She opened her eyes and met Ludwig's gaze expectantly.

Ludwig stared back at her, charmed by her persistence. "Teutonic Knights."

Svetlana blinked. "_Preußen_?" she said hesitantly.

"That's the one."

"But I thought that wasn't a country anymore. Didn't it get absorbed into Deu- I mean, you?"

"Ja, but Preußen is still an officially recognized territory within my borders — at least in law — and though our governments have merged and these days there's very little difference between a Prussian German and a German German there is just enough difference in cultural identity for the spirit of Preußen to survive. Prussia's people share a unique heritage and history that sets them apart from those who don't share that heritage and history. They tend to be more religious than nonPrussian Germans, more aristocratic, more traditional. Preußen thinks his people are more elite too, but I disagree."

"So in other words Preußen _isn't _a country, since you can be German without being Prussian but you can't be Prussian without being German."

"It's true," Ludwig said glumly, the two words rolling like lead marbles off his tongue. His face dimmed with sorrow and concern. "I still think of him as a nation, and most of the others still refer to him as one out of habit or ignorance, but in truth Preußen lost his nationhood at the end of the last war and never got it back. He's a province now, different from one of America's forty-eight states only in the respect that he used to be a true sovereign nation."

_ And he's lucky he's even that. _Though they both tried not to think about it and never spoke of it, both Germany and Prussia knew that the only reason Prussia still existed in _any _form was because Hitler's desire to have as many superhuman soldiers as possible under his control was currently greater than his desire to abolish Prussia. Though Gilbert had, initially, liked Hitler despite emphatically disagreeing with him about the Jews, Hitler had never liked Gilbert. One reason was the latter's albinism — Gilbert was simply _too _white, even for the self-proclaimed champion and savior of the perfect white Master race. But Hitler's biggest beef with Gilbert had less to do with what he looked like and more to do with his personality. Unlike Ludwig who had up until recently kept his mouth shut and gone with the flow in order to avoid upsetting their new boss, Gilbert had confronted Hitler early on about those few aspects of Nazism and government reform which didn't sit well with him, had done so vociferously and persistently. Hitler hated his strong, independent mind, moral tenets, and willingness to openly and repeatedly criticize his superiors and fight for what he believed in. He didn't appreciate his sense of humor, either — especially the biting sarcasm which tended to come out of Gilbert's mouth whenever he became exasperated, usually with a new law, plan, or policy — and felt he was constantly overstepping his boundaries. Not long after seizing power he'd decided that losing his ability to magically force Gilbert to obey him was a fair price to pay for not having to deal with him directly and rarely allowed the feisty red-eyed nation spirit in the same room with him, preferring instead to control him through Göring.

He could easily destroy him once and for all with a sweep of his hand; all he had to do was sign a few official documents and just like that Gilbert Beilschmidt's 750-year-long life would come to an end.

Now that he had seen his true colors, there was little doubt in Germany's mind that his Führer would do just that the moment he was done using Prussia to help them win the war. The only scenario in which he would allow Gilbert to survive would be with him as his boss, and the only way he would even consider taking him back would be if he were to start going out of his way to kiss his ass and make him happy. No way was he going to just let Göring keep a nation spirit of his very own forever, even such a weak one. Though he obviously trusted his Reichsmarschall enough right now, the thought that Göring could turn on him and command Gilbert to assassinate him at some point when Ludwig wasn't around to protect him had to have crossed his mind. He was crazy, not stupid.

"So provinces develop personifications too?"

Ludwig dropped his arm out from under his head and supported himself on one elbow like Svetlana. He was glad for the new question, for the pleasant distraction from the depressing thoughts the previous had stirred up. "Only when their people are moving them in the direction of becoming true nations distinct from their parent nations at some point in the near future."

"_Parent_ nations?" Svetlana smiled. "So you guys have parents too, just like us."

"We _can,_" Ludwig elucidated, "but unlike humans we can have anywhere from zero to three or four parents. Most of the oldest and most ancient of our kind sprang into existence without parents: they were born when their people approached state level society. It still happens once in a while today, though it's less common now that there is less unclaimed land in the world and fewer bands, tribes, and chiefdoms. Normally what happens these days is a nation will colonize an area — sometimes an area which is already claimed and occupied by other nations, which is generally frowned on — and that colony will develop a proto-nation, which is what we call nation spirits that haven't become nations yet. The nations that did the colonizing and had the greatest influence on the colony's language and culture are the proto-nation's parent nations, though I should tell you right now that we don't always choose to have a parental relationship with the proto-nations we create. England and Amerika are father and son, but they see each other more as brothers. Same with Kanada and his parents England and Frankreich. Same with me and my father who, in case you haven't figured it out by now, is Preußen. I was never a colony though, merely used that as an example. There are somewhere around half a dozen ways for a proto-nation to be born."

Svetlana was thoroughly entranced. "Are your kind created in adult bodies?" she asked with childlike curiosity, "Do you have to be taught things, or do you just automatically know how to walk, talk, and take care of yourselves?"

A thin whisper of a smile appeared on Ludwig's face. Humans were always so fascinated by his kind, always had a million questions when they learned of their existence. It was endearing. "No, we're not created in adult bodies with adult minds. All of us start life out as small children, usually between the appearance ages of three and five. I was born with the body and mind of a five-year-old. I knew how to walk, could speak two languages as well as most human children who really were the age I appeared to be, knew just as much as them about the world around me-"

"_Two _languages?" Svetlana interrupted, "most human children don't speak two languages, especially in a country like Deutschland where one language is so dominant. I know one of your languages was German…what was the other?"

"Shaykomay."

"I've never heard of it."

"You wouldn't have. It's a secret language spoken almost exclusively by nation spirits. Very few humans know it. We're all born at least bilingual, with a child's vocabulary in Shaykomay and whichever languages are most dominant in our population. As we age and mature our vocabulary and ability to express ourselves in the human languages grows and develops the same way it does in humans, through hearing others speak and learning to read and write. With Shaykomay it's a little different. The magic that creates us wants each and every one of us to be able to speak to and understand one another perfectly if we so choose, so our Shaykomay will improve at the same rate it would if we were exposed to adults actively teaching it to us even if no one around us ever speaks a single word of it. It helps us to identify each other, too. If we're unsure as to whether someone is a fellow nation we can test them by speaking in Shaykomay and watching their reaction. We can all sort of sense each other anyway, but for some reason we're a lot better at it as proto-nations. Probably it's to help us find our parents and avoid those who would harm us when we're little."

"Does Shaykomay have a written form?" Svetlana asked, "Does the magic teach you how to read and write in it too?" Her eyes fell on the little iron cross dangling from its silver chain against Ludwig's chest.

"It does," Ludwig answered, a little jolt of pleasure rushing through his body as the Russian's cool fingers brushed his skin and scooped up his national symbol. "It was invented by Sumer, the very first nation spirit, and evolved into its present form over thousands of years. We don't automatically learn it, no. Another nation has to teach us."

Svetlana rubbed the edges of the black-and-silver pendant between her fingertips, stared at it as though she half expected it to start glowing with magic. "Do you know it?"

"Ja. Most nations these days know it. All the important ones, anyway."

"What's it like?"

Ludwig blinked. _Wasn't expecting _that. No one had ever asked him what Shaykomay was like before. For every human he'd ever told it had been enough to know that it existed.

Perhaps fearing she'd somehow offended him or given him the wrong impression, Svetlana quickly added, almost sheepishly. "Languages fascinate me."

Ludwig's slight smile returned. "I see. Is that why you learned German?"

"One of the reasons, yes."

_ What were the others? _Though he really wanted to ask, Ludwig decided instead to just answer the question: the more he learned about this woman the less he wanted to kill her. And he absolutely _had _to kill her if he wanted to make dead certain she no longer posed a threat to his men. "Shaykomay is both like and unlike every other language that I know of. Like English it has no grammatical gender, like Russian it has no articles of speech, like Japanese it has several different forms of the word 'you' which are used to express how close the speaker feels to the person he or she is addressing — seven, actually — and like Turkish it is a phonetic language. It has four tenses and five cases. The alphabet has twenty-eight letters, eight of them vowels. In written form it looks a little like Arabic, but the letters in words don't connect. Spoken aloud it sounds the most like Greek, Greek with a bit of Finnish thrown in. Most humans who can even begin to guess what it is mistake it for Greek."

Svetlana continued playing with the pendant, turning it this way and that so that the dim-but-sufficient light radiating from the two overhead bulbs caught it at different angles. "In other words, it isn't much like German."

"Not at all," Ludwig reached up and closed his hand loosely around hers. "There are sounds in Shaykomay that don't even exist in German, and vice versa." He began rubbing her hand lightly, sliding his palm and fingers up, down, and around over cool, smooth flesh. "I see you like my national symbol."

"It's pretty." Svetlana fixed him with an earnest gaze, eyes burning brightly in spite of the bleak knowledge that hid behind them, knowledge which would make most women in her situation sullen and downcast. "I'm surprised it isn't a swastika." Just like that her entire tone changed and her words smoldered with restrained anger. She released the pendant and drew back her hand, frowning.

"Yes, well, this has been my symbol for a lot longer than the swastika." Ludwig caught the little cross mid-fall and held it out by the end of its chain. "The iron cross represents everything that I am and aspire to. Power. Nobility. Loyalty. Unshakable courage. Strength of body, mind, and spirit. Hitler wants the swastika to represent all that I am and aspire to, but personally I use it purely for intimidation. There's a lot I love about being a Nazi, but I will never, _ever_ support the willful slaughter of innocents and unwarranted cruelty."

"Then why are you even here?" Svetlana huffed, "Do you have any _idea_ of the horrors your army has rained down on us? Do you know that their motto is effectively 'If it moves, kill it, if not, burn it?'" Her eyes narrowed dangerously, her expression darkening to only a shade or two below murderous. "Do you have any idea what some of them _**do**_ to women and children? _Do you?_"

"_Ja_," Ludwig snapped, eyes flashing with sudden anger. "I _do_. Do you think it makes me proud, that I _approve _of such behavior? I condemn it every chance I get! If I catch any of my men doing it I discipline them severely, rake them over the coals in front of everyone and reduce their rations, give them all the worst tasks. The situation here in Stalingrad being what it is I can't afford to physically harm them or remove them from duty, but such men find themselves volunteering for all the most dangerous missions, up to and including distracting Russland. The soldiers under mine and Prussia's direct supervision are well-behaved, but we can't be everywhere watching everyone."

"You shouldn't even be here in the first place! You-"

"War is war," Ludwig spat, raising his voice, "It's not our fault your dictator won't allow this city's civilians to evacuate. You're mad at me as a nation for invading — well, I have news for you. _All _great nations invade, conquer, and subjugate their neighbors, dominate their allies. It's what makes us great. I'm one of the most powerful countries on Earth right now, and I didn't get this way by sitting on my ass being content with what I already had. Neither did _your _country." He stared directly into defiant green eyes, rising to the unspoken challenge. His countenance was harsh and deadly serious. "Do you honestly think that every country which is part of the Soviet Union actually _wants_ to be? Do you have any idea how Russland treats his servant nation spirits, the mental and physical _torture_ he subjects them to? What about your Red Army and NKVD? They commit atrocities too. You should have seen them in Polen." His tone hardened. "Should have seen them brutally _massacre_ _thousands_ of helpless Polish civilians and prisoners of war in cold blood and then blame it on my Nazis, on _me. _Russland himself was part of that, by the way. He isn't the heroic warrior your people make him out to be. He's nothing but a deranged murderer, and a sadistic one at that."

"Why should I believe a word that comes out of your lying Nazi mouth?" Svetlana seethed, sitting up and wrapping her entire body in the thick quilt she'd been under so that only her head was visible. "You're his enemy! Of course you'd say terrible things about him, drag his name through the mud. Try to make yourself look like the good guy."

"Svetlana, between the two of us, I _am_ the good guy." As fast as it had come Ludwig's fury abated. His face relaxed, slipped back into its frosty neutral expression. He could well understand why a Russian would be upset with him, especially one whose friends and family he killed every day, whose home and resources he still hoped to claim for his own. He could be angry at Svetlana for killing his men, but not for being angry with them. He was angry with the ones who went out of their way to maim, kill, torture, and violate civilians too. Men like that gave Germans a bad name.

And maybe, just maybe, he was getting his hopes up too much, but the flaxen-haired sniper didn't look or sound as though she really, truly believed in Russia's innocence; in fact she sounded as though she were trying to convince herself that he was lying.

Figured.

Denial usually followed swiftly on the tail of a horrific discovery about one's own country and compatriots.

"I dug your family out of that cellar, didn't I? Secured them safe passage through my men." Ludwig's voice was calm and factual and persuasive. His right arm was starting to get stiff, and the last of the heat he'd worked up earlier had left his upper body minutes ago. He joined his prisoner in sitting upright, drew the ugly maroon comforter he'd been stuck with up around him and fixed her with a sincere gaze. "I spared that frightened boy you saw me with earlier in spite of the fact that he was armed and might have had it in him to fire on me, and I helped treat that little girl's infected ankle. If situations were reversed and this were a German city being invaded by the Red Army I know for a fact that Russland would not do the same for my civilians, no matter how young and innocent. He'd probably act like a fox in a henhouse with them."

Svetlana's face softened. "I'm sure he wouldn't." she said soothingly, probably just as much to reassure herself as Ludwig. "General Braginski may be many things, but I don't think he has it in him to kill civilians, especially not children."

Germany looked away. "He's your leader and your country. It's only natural you'd want to think the best of him. But I know him better than you, have worked alongside him on equal footing. When we invaded Polen he let his soldiers do as they pleased in the cities and towns and had no moral hang-ups about killing Poles who posed no threat to us just to make a point. In fact, I think he got off on it. I personally never saw him hurt or kill kids, but that doesn't mean that he didn't: I definitely wouldn't put it past him. And whether you choose to believe me or not he really was directly involved in the Katyn massacre — I wasn't there, obviously, but I heard from very reliable sources, people who are neither German nor Russian and wouldn't have any reason to lie about it."

"I've never heard of such a massacre." Svetlana's tone was hard to read.

"I'm not surprised." Blue eyes again lit upon green. "Word of it hasn't really gotten out yet — for the most part the families of those missing can only speculate. Those in and connected with the military tend to learn of these things first. Right now the Russians are hiding it, trying to pretend it didn't happen; even my own military doesn't know about it. But trust me, it happened, and once the cat gets out of the bag you can bet your ass Russland will point the finger of blame directly at me, secure in the knowledge that most will believe him given the SS's habit of committing such massacres all the time, in exactly the same fashion."

Svetlana began shaking her head, utterly bewildered. "I don't understand…you say you are so strongly against cruelty and the slaughter of innocents, and with everything you've done in the last forty-eight hours I believe it — if it weren't for you my sister and her family would have died in that cellar, and you didn't have to ensure they made it safely past your men or honor my last requests-"

"But I _liked_ your last requests, especially the one to, just for one night, pretend we aren't enemies." One side of Ludwig's mouth curved up lasciviously. He regarded the Russian through half-lidded eyes, remembering what she looked like, what she _felt _like.

God, he could really do with some more of that right now. _She doesn't seem to be too tired…maybe she'll be up for another, gentler round in a few minutes._

He hoped so; just _thinking_ about it sent a little shiver of excitement through him, made him crave it even more.

But whether it happened or not it was nice to be able to just relax and enjoy each other's company like this, to speak freely and honestly almost like friends. Though he'd had a handful of romantic interests over the decades and some of them had been just as beautiful as Svetlana, none had been nearly as interesting or exciting.

Svetlana's other last request had been for him to tell her what he really was.

A sad smile came to Svetlana's lips, the first visible sign that her swiftly approaching death _was_ bothering her. "I'm glad to hear it." Her voice was the quietest it had been since they'd whispered to one another en route to save her family last night. Her smile vanished. "As I was saying," she said, resuming normal conversational volume, "you're against cruelty and slaughter, yet you know what the SS are doing and you're not trying to stop it?"

_ If only you knew. _Ludwig frowned. "I don't control the SS. That would be Heinrich Himmler."

"Does Hitler know what he's doing?"

"Ja, and he fully supports it."

"Then why don't you do something about it!" Svetlana exclaimed fervently, "You have superpowers for God's sake! You could easily kill or overthrow Hitler and everyone who stands in your way!"

"No I can't." _Not directly, anyway. _But Svetlana didn't need to know about his and Gilbert's plans to kill Hitler. Sure, she'd be dead before she ever got the chance to tell anyone, but speaking of it might plant false hope within her that he'd actually spare her life. After all, Hitler was her enemy too, and as that old saying went '_the enemy of my enemy is my friend_'.

"Why the hell not?!"

"Nation spirits can't just up and kill their heads of state, no matter how much we might want to. The magic that creates us renders us physically incapable of harming them. We can't even poison their drinks, not intentionally anyway. If we try to every muscle in our hands and arms will freeze up the moment we try to tip the poison into the drink." Ludwig shook his head. "There's still so much you don't know about us."

Svetlana scooted in close to him, so close that their blankets became wedged tightly between their bodies, and gazed into his eyes with rapt fascination and curiosity. "I'd _like_ to know. I want to know everything about your kind."

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "_Everything_? It would take me all night to explain in detail how we're connected to our land, our people, our bosses. What we can and cannot do, the source of each ability, how we age, how we live…"

"Well, I do _have_ all night, don't I?" Svetlana tilted her head, her expression darkly playful and wholly unafraid.

Ludwig nodded curtly. "Ja. I agreed to a whole night, so unless you get tired of my company and beg me to kill you before then, a whole night you'll have." He turned the tables on her, gave her a wickedly dark smile that would have been frightening if not for the playful glint in his eyes, a smile which plainly indicated that he did not for a second believe she would tire of his company. "Alright Russian, I'll bite. Where would you like me to start?"

* * *

><p><strong>X-o-X-o-X-o-X<strong>

* * *

><p>Svetlana's thirst for knowledge about nation spirits was insatiable. She flooded Germany with questions, and with every answer she received dug further and deeper on the same subject until even the tiniest fact pertaining to it had been unearthed. To Ludwig's surprise she seemed equally as interested in his own personal origins and life experiences. She asked him what his first memories were, how he had found Prussia, what his childhood had been like and what life in general had been like back in those days, what apparent age he'd been when he'd became a true nation, what he'd done during the Great War, what had attracted him to the Nazi party, what his brief friendship with Russia had been like.<p>

The cellar Ludwig had chosen for her prison was set deeper in the ground than most, and the thick, brick-fortified earthen walls, along with the destroyed Soviet tank he'd turned on its side and pulled over the small entrance hole to prevent her escape and ensure their privacy, greatly muffled the occasional booms, bangs, and whistling screams of nighttime battle so that at times it was truly, refreshingly silent. Relatively clean and well-insulated, the previous occupants had gone to great lengths to make the place quite cozy, outfitting it with a small electrical generator; extra light bulbs; a working gas stove complete with pots, pans and dishes; plenty of candles; a queen-sized bed and lots of blankets; a large stash of food; several jars of water; clothes; an abundance of ammunition; and some tools. Ludwig had discovered it days ago, and, after liberating it from the two Soviet soldiers residing in it, had procured all the food and water for his men.

At least, he _thought_ he had.

Happily he'd missed a few little wooden boxes of food cached away under the bed and two jars of water hiding behind an armchair in a dark corner. These he kept for himself and Svetlana.

Since the house overhead had been reduced to a messy pile of bricks, pipes, and splinters insufficient to shelter even a cat it was unlikely anyone would come poking around. The only bad thing was that the way in was somewhat out in the open, meaning exits and entrances were most safely done in the dark of night and predawn, all the more so when sliding a monstrous tank back and forth was involved.

Not far into the conversation Svetlana had come up with the idea of lighting a few candles around the bed and turning off the lights to create a more mystical atmosphere. This had turned out to be a wonderful idea: the dim, flickering candlelight, the warm softness of bed, and the ability to fully relax were incredibly soothing, a glowing, heavenly oasis in the midst of a hellishly cold, insanely stressful bloodbath of a battle.

Lying there peacefully, answering questions and relating the story of his kind, his eyes alternating between the blonde siren at his side at the prehistoric fireglow-and-shadows motif projected onto the ceiling, Ludwig lost track of time. At some point Svetlana slipped out of her blankets and into his, and now, after what felt like scarcely more than an hour but had probably been closer to three, her body was snug against his, her head resting comfortably on his bare and exposed chest, rising and falling with every breath he took. Ludwig ran a hand repeatedly over her hair, petting her, pausing occasionally to caress her cheek and ear with his fingers.

While he could never forget the shockingly cruel and evil horrors of the last few years and what he had been forced to do, still _had_ to do, such memories and thoughts were, for the moment, far from the front of his mind. It was just him and Svetlana, alone together in the temporary safe haven he'd created, free to do as they pleased without interruption.

"So I'm listening to Berlin?" Svetlana's left ear was directly over Ludwig's heart. Though more subtle than it had initially been, there was still an element of wonder in her voice.

"Ja." Ludwig shut his eyes and could almost feel the heat of a campfire, almost see thousands of stars blazing like burning diamonds in the blackness the back of his eyelids created. This night just kept getting better and better.

"It sounds strong and healthy."

"It is."

"Which city is linked to your eyes?"

"Regensburg. Lots of crystalline water there, and the city itself and surrounding wilderness are picturesque."

"What would happen if there was a city-wide blackout. Would you go blind?"

"Ja. Until either the power came back on or another city became my eyes, whichever happened first."

"So all nation spirits were _blind_ before humans harnessed electricity?" Svetlana sounded horrified.

Ludwig opened his eyes and almost smiled, not that the sniper could see it from her position. "Nein. Before towns and cities had electricity it was mainly the location and cleanliness of our eye-cities that determined how well we could see. In countries where electrical power is either non-existent or still a privilege reserved only for the wealthiest that's still the case."

"I know where Russia's eyes are then," Svetlana said suddenly, triumphantly, "We call Saint Petersburg the 'window to the west'."

_ Russia. _Ludwig frowned and stopped petting. _I know you're one of his citizens, but do you have to bring him up so much? _Here they'd been enjoying a rare, beautiful moment and Svetlana had had to go and throw a rock in the pond. "Danke. Now I know where to send my bombers to blind him." Though not quite angry or harsh, his tone was significantly less cordial than it had been seconds ago.

Svetlana ignored him. "Oh! I know which part of his body we're on right now!"

_ I hope it's nowhere embarrassing. _Ludwig thought, unamused and also a bit worried about the potentially awkward turn the night was about to take.

Of all the things he hoped to do before falling asleep tonight, discussing Ivan's body was definitely not one of them. "Svetlana-"

"Normally General Braginski heals very fast, but I've heard there's a raw, red, rough patch that looks like a burn near the middle of his chest that never heals. People have seen him rubbing medicine on it, and sometimes he wraps it in a bandage. He never talks about it or acts like it's bothering him much, but we all think it hurts a lot more than he lets on. Well, this city's been through a firestorm and is the site of an ongoing battle…with everything you've told me it would make sense for that to manifest as a burn that won't heal. What do you think?"

_ I think maybe you have a crush on your country. _The words were on the tip of Ludwig's tongue when he swallowed them back. It_ was _possible that Svetlana only brought up Russia as often as she did because he was the only nation spirit besides himself she knew much about, both as Ivan Braginski and as the politically and culturally distinct nation that most people envisioned when they heard the word 'Russia'. And it wasn't like she hadn't acted just as interested in the other nation spirits he'd mentioned, even had asked what some of their human names were and what they looked like ( in the process she'd learned his human first name, too ).

_ Wait a minute…even if she does have a crush on him, why do I care? She's not my girlfriend. She's not even my _friend. _All this is is a temporary truce between two enemies who happen to be extremely attracted to each other sexually. That. Is. _It.

"I think you're right," he said, resuming his petting. "I know what it feels like to have armies fighting on your land body. If it's an area that corresponds to your skin the whole area breaks out into a nasty, overly sensitive rash that itches _and_ stings. Usually the tissue underneath is affected as well. And yes, very large fires do give us burns."

"What about your blood? What's it linked to?"

"Our blood, and the veins and arteries which carry it, corresponds to roads, rivers, and streams mainly."

"Your hair?"

"Like our bones and teeth it can be a lot of different things. Most of mine corresponds to forests."

Svetlana fell silent, probably deep in thought since she still didn't sound tired.

Ludwig didn't mind. Though he very much liked the sound of her voice and her questions didn't irritate him the way Italy's sometimes did right now it was enough simply to hold her close, to feel the warm pressure of her body against his, the weight of her head on his chest. The silky softness of her straight and well-groomed hair gliding under his hand.

He closed his eyes again, welcomed the return of the acid-clear summer night sky…

"Deutschland?"

"Ja?"

"What's it like to die?"

Ludwig's eyes shot open, the illusion shattering. "Depends on _how_ you die," he said with stark honesty, "I've only ever been killed in battles, so most of my deaths have been violent, bloody, and painful, sometimes _excruciatingly _painful." Memories of the latter group flashed through his mind and he almost winced. "I've been killed by bullets, blades, explosions, blunt trauma, having my neck broken, falling thousands of meters from a biplane…being shot in the head isn't so bad. There's a flash of pain, then nothing. Same with all other instant deaths. Almost everything else is going to hurt…worst I've been through so far is bleeding out after being stabbed and slashed several times with a dagger after I'd already been shot several times and had several bones broken. That's definitely one of the worst ways to die, though I would still take it over being burned alive in a fire, which _has_ happened to some nations."

"So that's it then? At the moment of death there's just _nothing_, not even blackness? You don't see any lights or feel a weightlessness? _Nothing?_" There was a strong note of fear in Svetlana's voice, fear and disappointment.

"Nothing." Ludwig agreed. "Sometimes either right before I die or right before I've fully regained consciousness after coming back to life I'll have a sensation of floating in an endless sea of blackness, and sometimes then I'll also see lights, but when I'm dead, actually _dead_, I might as well not exist. I have no awareness of anything, or if I do I don't remember when I wake up."

"My god…"

Those two simple words, half whispered, contained enough fear, sorrow, and soul-crushing _hopelessness_ to make Ludwig instantly realize his mistake.

"I don't mean to imply that the soul dies when the body does," he added quickly and awkwardly, "or that there is no God or afterlife. For nation spirits dying is a lot like blacking out after one too many beers at a party: one second you're conscious and aware and the next you're waking up in a room you don't remember going into. The only ones of our kind who have _**permanently **_died aren't around to tell us what that's like, but I'm almost certain the experience would be different. Logically it _has _to be: leaving a body forever isn't the same as leaving for a few minutes."

Ludwig had no idea how Svetlana would react to his reasoning, if she would find it even slightly reassuring, but he certainly wasn't expecting the reaction he got.

"I wish all Germans were like you."

"_What?_" Ludwig's thought-processes came to a screeching stop.

He had _not _just heard that.

He couldn't have.

"You saw how scared I was and you tried to comfort me. Even though I'm an enemy. Even though I killed you and over a dozen of your men." She sounded touched.

"Well, we are_ pretending_ we're not enemies right now, remember?" Ludwig's tone darkened ominously. His hand moved to the tender flesh of her neck, massaged it a bit roughly. "And my men will be avenged soon enough."

"How are you going to do it?"

"I was thinking of snapping your neck, but if you'd rather be stabbed, shot, strangled, or suffocated with a pillow I can do that too. In fact…" Quick as a fish he rolled over and straddled her, took her face between his palms and twisted her neck so that she was staring straight up into his eyes. "you need to pick right now." The last six words were spoken in a deadly half-whisper. His face had again become austere and hawklike.

Svetlana's eyes widened. Though it was harder to tell in candlelight, some of the color appeared to drain from her cheeks. "So much for a full night." She sighed, and her eyes returned to normal. "May I at least know _why_ you changed your mind? Was it my remark about your men? Because you've killed _way_ more Russians than I have Germans, _Russian Butcherer_."

"Nein. I didn't figure I was your only kill. I'm upset about it, yes, but this is war and I know you were only trying to protect your family, save them from those cruel, evil Germans that defile and destroy everything they touch." His voice was bitter. "_Pick_."

"Not until you tell me."

Well, _that_ was unexpected. Going by voice-tone and volume alone, anyone stumbling in on the scene would think Svetlana was arguing with a boyfriend rather than coming to terms with the fact that she had only seconds left to live.

Again, her courage was admirable.

It was Ludwig's turn to sigh. His eyes and mouth softened marginally. "Because…because I'm starting to like you too much." Hands still clamped firmly against either side of his prisoner's skull, he shook his head, grimaced in disgust at his own weakness. _I never should have done this, never should have let things escalate this far._

Sleeping with the enemy.

What the hell had he been _thinking?_

"Such a shame. I was starting to like you too."

That voice.

So dark, powerful, and seductive.

It made Ludwig want to…

_ Nein! We're DONE! Time for me to do what I should have done hours ago! _He would _**not**_ allow himself to be tricked by a femme fatale, to give into sweet temptation even one more time…

"I don't care how you kill me, but if you're going to do it do it now." It was as if an icy wind had risen up somewhere inside Svetlana and blown all the strength, seduction, and dark playfulness out of her, leaving her lifeless and utterly despondent. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Ludwig searched her eyes for that familiar spark of defiance that he knew still must be there, _had_ to be there, but failed to find it. All the fight had gone out of her eyes, all the fire. All that was left was grim resignation, overwhelming sorrow, and a dash of fear.

Svetlana squeezed her eyes shut. "Please, be quick."

_ So that's it then? You're not going to beg for your life, curse me to Hell, or try to go out with a fight? _The sorrow and regret welling up within Ludwig's heart broke free and gushed to his face, turned his frown gentle.

This didn't feel right.

It _should_ feel right, but it didn't.

Ludwig moved one of his hands to the top of Svetlana's head and brought it down slowly in an affectionate caress before returning it to position. The Russian's throat flashed, her body tensing.

_ I'm going to regret this, I just _know_ it._

Quickly, before his emotions could overwhelm him, Ludwig tightened his grip, lifted Svetlana's head several centimeters off the pillow, darted his head down and kissed her between the eyes.

"Look, I don't want to kill you and I know you don't want to die." His voice was almost tender. "It doesn't have to be this way. I can't set you free because I can't yet trust that you won't go back to shooting every German you see, but I have a proposition for you, one which I think you'll agree is mutually beneficial." Smiling a little, he gave Svetlana another quick kiss, this time on the lips, before releasing her head to fall back onto the pillow.

The sniper opened her eyes and looked up at him hopefully.

"Deal's this. Switch sides, stay with me and work alongside my soldiers and I as a Hiwi, give me your absolute loyalty, and in return I will protect not only you, but your sister and her children. I know evacuation isn't allowed and the Soviet army is enforcing this barbaric rule, but trust me, I can get them out of here."

"How?" Still mildly in shock, Svetlana could barely make her mouth work.

"I have my ways." Ludwig reached down and caressed her cheek again. "If you don't want to shoot Russian soldiers that's fine — I keep Italy around and he's almost completely useless in combat. You can help us in other ways. What do you say?" He treated Svetlana to the same dark seduction she'd used on him. "You'll find I make a very powerful ally."

For a moment, Svetlana didn't look as though she knew what to do, or what to think, or how to even begin addressing the offer. Then a decision set in, and she found her voice again. "I agree to your proposition."

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Ruesseeya -<strong>** _Svetlana is speaking in Russian here, calling her country by name. ****  
><strong>**_

****Hiwi** - **_The German term for non-Germans assisting the German army. A startling number of them were Russians, with some being local citizens, some being Russian POWs, and a smaller percentage being actual **Red Army** traitors. In Stalingrad, they made up a full 25% of the Wehrmacht's front line forces. Google "Hiwi (volunteer)" to learn more._

**Just Anothr Anon**_ -_ "...I wonder how this will affect the plans to kill Hitler...something tells me it will not come without repercussions." _We'll have to wait and seeeeeee. ;)_

_There is a new poll up in my profile! _

**Do you think Germany's going to regret the decision he made regarding Svetlana**_, _**and was this decision a mistake?**

_Your choices are:_**_  
><em>**

_x_

_Oh my god! Yes, this was a **BIG** mistake, and he's** DEFINITELY** going to wind up regretting it!_

_It was a mistake but he's not going to regret it. _

_It was not a mistake and he **WILL NOT** regret it. _LOVE CONQUERS ALL! :D__

_It was not a mistake but he **WILL** regret it. Svetlana's going to unintentionally mess up his plans._


End file.
